The Lost King
by OldFashionedGirl95
Summary: "It is a tale of Narnia," said the Centaur. "A tale of death and witchery, of love and life, of faith and loyalty, a tale of my time. It is the tale of King Frank the Lost."
1. First

**Written for the 2012 NFE for WingedFlight. Slightly tweaked and rechaptered for reposting.****  
**

* * *

_Dear God, I was utterly lost when the galaxies crossed.  
~ Owl City_

**I.  
England  
The Fifth Year of King Edward VII**

The little boy sat on the bottom step, watching the setting sun color the sky. He knew his colors. Aunt 'Ears'ry had teached him. The clouds were purple and orange, and the sky was blue. Grass was green. His breeches were brown. A black ant crawled across his bare foot and into a crack in the step, carrying a white crumb. He looked up again at the thickening purple clouds and sniffed the air. It would rain later tonight. He hugged Yi, his stuffed yellow lion, closer. Yi was missing one eye and his mane was worn away, but he was Yi.

The little boy was hungry. He looked down at the crack in the step, but no more ants crawled by. Ants were good to eat. There was a green field not far away, but he didn't see any bushes that looked like berries, or any trees with fruit. He wanted someone to come get him and take him home to the burrow, where it was warm and dry and cozy and there was bread and honey to eat. He shouldn't be out all by himself like this. Mrs. 'Winklewacks and Aunt 'Ears'ry and Mr. and Mrs. 'Nuffleroot always said so. He must stay safe, must hide from—from the bad lady with the hard-to-say name, and from her Wolves.

The door opened behind him and the little boy jumped up. What if it was the bad woman? He had to look very far up to see, but it wasn't a Giant. It was a Man. Girl Mans had no fur on their faces; boy Mans had some fur. This was a Man, and his fur was black and white—not striped like Mr. 'Nuffleroot's brother's, but all speckly.

"Hullo!" said the Man. "What have we here?"

The boy suddenly remembered his manners and bowed. Mrs. 'Winklewacks would say he should set Yi down before he bowed, but this was a strange Man, and he mustn't trust strangers—not strange Nanimals and not strange Mans, and not strange Trees, either.

"Well, what's your name, son?" said the Man. His voice didn't sound strange. It sounded kind.

"Fwank."

"How d'you do?" said the Man. He stuck out his hand.

Slowly, Frank reached up and took one of the Man's fingers. "Gweeting, Mr. Man."

Mr. Man laughed and bounced his hand up and down once. "Nowadays they mostly call me Reverend Colin, but you can call me Mr. Man if you want. Nippy out, isn't it? Want to come in my office and have a ginger-beer?"

Frank pulled his hand back and looked at Mr. Man warily. Mrs. 'Winklewacks said, No strange Mans. Was this a strange Man? He smelled like the smoke from Uncle Pewiwig's pipe, and Uncle Pewiwig wasn't strange. He smelled like other things, too, things Frank didn't know—but his voice didn't sound strange, either. And it was cold, and it was going to rain. The bad lady might come and make it snow again. And Frank liked ginger.

"Yes," he lisped at last, and took Mr. Man's hand.

**II.  
Narnia  
The First Year of High King Peter**

The morning after their coronation, the children had awoken in a heap of cushions and found themselves with a country on their hands, and though it was not a very big country, neither were they very big children, and there was a great deal to be done. All the seed grain had been eaten during the Winter, the land had been cut off from international politics for a century, and no one remembered which herbs were good for ague. Those were lean days, when the creatures of Narnia were thin and pale, frightened and no longer knowing how to live in summer freedom—but wine was plentiful, there were fish in the sea and fresh greens on the hills, and the Narnians had not forgotten how to dance or tell stories.

Besides, the children weren't facing all the work alone, for a small group of Narnians—some of whom (such as Timeseer, a Centaur who knew just everything) had been statues in the Witch's house since the beginning of the Winter, and some of whom (such as Libruns, their first scribe) were children of the Winter—had elected to come and live at Cair Paravel. Nor was their new life all work and worry. In keeping with an ancient decree of King Frank the First, which Edmund unearthed in the dusty archives and Timeseer confirmed, they scrubbed, trained, and studied six days of the week and rested on the seventh.

On the second Seventhday since the coronation they spent the day down on the beach. The evenings were still coolish, and as the sun swung low, Edmund showed Lucy how to build a driftwood fire on the sand. They were all getting rather tired of fish, but Clearscry the Eagle had caught enough for the whole household, and when Peter had cleaned those the Cats and Dogs didn't want, Susan and Mrs. Twinkletacks the Hedgehog (her help and direction was proving invaluable in that first, overwhelming spring cleaning) roasted the fish over the fire and baked flat oatcakes in the coals, the way Roongrath the Centaur had shown them.

"Can't be healthy, Human children eating Centaur food," said Reedywhistle, an old Marshwiggle who had shown up that morning.

Susan smiled up at him. "We've been eating them for more than a fortnight now, and we've eaten oatmeal porridge for longer than that. How were the marshes?"

Reedywhistle rearranged his usually somber features into a near-sepulchral expression. "Terrible. Shameful, the way the country's been run down."

"How have they come through the winter?" asked Edmund.

"The marshes froze, of course. Now half the wigwams are flooded, and they're eking out what existence they can from stewed eels and boiledfrogs."

Lucy's eyes widened.

"With all the fuss, the old ones haven't bothered to teach the young ones proper manners. The whole lot of them is frolicking like a band of rowdy Fauns merely because the winter's over." He scowled.

Susan wondered if the statues had felt time passing, and if Reedywhistle had any idea how long the winter had really been.

"Disgraceful, it is. Before long they will be kicking up their heels, and lighting off fireworks as a regular thing."

Ocellus the Leopard stretched and rolled so his other side was by the fire. "Hardly think there's any danger of that. What are they singing? Dirges?"

"Where will you live? Up in the marshes?" asked Peter.

"Up in the marshes!" He puffed thick, muddy smoke from his pipe, highly affronted. "With those ruffians? I think not. I shall build myself a wigwam on the other side of the river, far from the carryings-on you lot are bound to have here at the castle. Of course, the damp will likely give me rheumatism, or even pneumonia, but 'twill be just the thing to steady me after all this frippery and celebration, and how you Humans are supposed to get across a flooded river without webbed feet, I'll never know. What you need is a ferry. "

Timeseer had been standing a little ways away, gazing at the sunset, his arms folded across his chest. "Wise advice," he said now.

"Well, that's one more thing done," said Peter. "No roads yet, Edmund, but we'll get there."

Edmund grinned. "I think we need a dance floor first, with all the dancing Susan and Lucy are doing."

"Oh, yes!" said Lucy. "But it's more fun to dance in the grass with the Fauns."

Susan yawned and stretched out on the sand. "I'm too tired to dance tonight. Someone should tell a story."

"Not one of those boring ones from that book Edmund and Libruns are reading, please," said Lucy.

"They're not boring!" said Edmund.

"I have a tale," said Timeseer before they could argue about it. "Shall any listen?"

"What tale have you?" said Peter, as he had learned.

"A tale of Narnia," said the Centaur. "A tale of death and witchery, of love and life, of faith and loyalty, a tale of my time. It is the tale of King Frank the Lost."

"We listen," said Peter. "Tell us your tale."

**III.  
Narnia and Telmar  
The Ninth Year of High King Peter and the Thirty-Fourth Year of Chief Belisan**

It was just after midsummer when High King Peter and Queen Lucy visited Telmar. Telmarine ruffians and brigands were making a nuisance of themselves in the Western March, hunting along Narnia's southwest border, and two Narnians, Bristletail the Wolf and Nibbleaf the Rabbit, were accidentally shot and killed. After a flurry of letters to Timeseer, now Chief of the Moongrove Centaurs, Peter and Lucy sent a message ahead and set off for Telmar, accompanied by Clearscry the wise Eagle and twelve Winged Horses, and riding on the back of a not-overly-clever Dragon named Chrysophylax, who normally lived in a cave by Knucker's Mere with a pile of gold cursed by the White Witch.

Flying down on the Dragon was Lucy's idea. She spent a long day riding the twenty-five miles to Knucker's Mere to recruit him, then ten miles down to the plain where the Winged Horses lived (she promised them a bag of sugar cubes) and at last to Paravel. She and Chrysophylax liked each other, and she adored flying. Peter hated every minute of it, but Timeseer had advised impressing Telmar with Narnia's might, and the alternative was marching through the mountains with a large warband. He could, of course, have sent Edmund, who had no trouble with heights, but Lucy insisted that she was going along, and Peter wasn't about to send Lucy off on the first visit to what Timeseer had described as "a motley and warlike people." Even if hints from Timeseer and the other advisors about the Future of Narnia and Heirs to the Thrones were neither subtle or infrequent, and even if the Animals were hoping Susan would marry King Aran of Terebinthia. He didn't want to think about that.

So it was Peter sitting on the Dragon's back behind Lucy, strapped into the Dwarf-engineered harness, his arms wrapped around his sister's waist and his eyes squinched shut; while she went into raptures over the view and then (being tired) leaned back and took a nap on his shoulder. They reached the mountains on the evening of the second day, and that night were joined by Loneruff the Wolf and part of his pack. Bristletail had been Loneruff's lieutenant, his second-in-command, and the Alpha Wolf was angry.

All the next day, they flew through the mountains, but not until evening did they see anyone. While they were unloading and making camp, two men stepped out of the trees, dressed in fringed leather and armed with bows and arrows. All the hackles on Loneruff's neck went up when he caught their scent. He rushed and knocked down the shorter of the men; then stood over him and snarled.

Peter set down the bundle he was holding. "What goes here?"

"I didn't do anything!" said the man on the ground, trying to push the great Wolf off him. The second man reached for his bow, but the other five Wolves were ringed around him, and he stopped.

"This Man killed Bristletail." said Loneruff. "My brother cried out and said, 'Do not shoot me, for I am a Narnian,' but the hunter did not listen. He shot him, stripped him of his skin, and left his body to rot."

The man was whimpering now. "Call off your wolf, call off your wolf!"

Loneruff snarled and snapped, teeth dangerously close to the man's throat.

Peter stepped forward. "Peace, Loneruff." His voice was cold. "Telmarine churl. Didst thou do this thing?"

"I—I didn't mean to! I didn't know he was anything special!"

"You address the High King of Narnia, worm!" snarled Loneruff, and Chrysophylax hissed, mostly because _he_ really was a wyrm, and a very good one.

"Didst thou slay a Talking Beast of Narnia?" said Peter.

"I—I killed a wolf, sir. Biggest wolf I ever saw, sir."

Loneruff snapped his teeth, dangerously close to the man's throat.

"Peter—" said Lucy.

"Hath this other done aught?"

"I do not know, Your Majesty," said Loneruff. "But if one would kill a Narnian, so would the other."

"Telmarine," Peter said to the second man, whose hand was frozen half-way to his bow. "How art thou called?"

"Nothan, sir."

"Beware, Nothan of Telmar. We arrest thee not this day, but stray not again onto Narnian soil, and spill not Narnian blood, else it shall go hardly with thee."

"Aye, sir," said Nothan.

"Release him," said Peter, and the Wolves drew back, growling low in their throats. "We shall take the other to his chief."

Peter and Lucy were the only ones with hands, so they had to do the honors with the rope. Peter tied the man's wrists together and gave him to Chrysophylax to watch. "Flee, and the Dragon shall be after thee," said Peter.

Then the Wolves and the Eagle went hunting, separately, while Peter built a fire, the Winged Horses grazed, and Lucy laid out the bedrolls.

Herding Boanzir, the Telmarine prisoner, slowed the Wolves the next day, and the party didn't come to the last pass until late afternoon. Peter called a halt in a small clearing, just this side of the pass, and all the Horses circled gracefully down out of the sky. They stood with Clearscry, grooming their feathers, while Peter donned his mail shirt and Lucy went behind a clump of trees to change into a fresh dress. Peter was buckling his sword belt when she came out, her bow and quiver slung across her back and her dagger at her side. She had let her hair out of its windblown braid, so that it tumbled in riotous curls to her waist, restrained only by her golden circlet. She handed Peter his, and he put it on.

"Ready?"

He nodded.

Most of the food they were carrying had been eaten, so they made room on Chrysophylax for Boanzir, the captive hunter, leaving the Wolves free to run. Clearscry the Eagle led the way, then Chrysophylax the Dragon, with twelve Winged Horses fanned behind them like a skein of geese. And so they burst through the last mountain pass, a pack of Wolves loping beneath them, and flew down into the valley of Telmar.


	2. Second

_Mister God, this is Anna.  
~ Fynn_

_Now all the vast, low earth rippled softly in gentle colors under a faded sky. Grasses were golden-stemmed, and over the prairie they spread a coverlet of buff and tan and brown and warm brownish-gray; only the sloughs were darker with green._

_By the Shores of Silver Lake_

~ Laura Ingalls Wilder

**IV.  
Narnia  
The First Year of High King Peter**

Timeseer stamped a hoof and refolded his arms, raising and deepening his voice to carry across the beach. "My tale begins over two centuries ago, with Shale and Birk, the last good Kings of Narnia, twin brothers who ruled from twin thrones in in this very castle, Cair Paravel."

"Did they have any sisters?" said Lucy.

"Nay, good maid. The brother-kings married sisters, and then there were four thrones. To King Shale and Queen Wren there were born one son and two daughters; to King Birk and Queen Silva, two sons and one daughter. When they died, the Kings left the land to all six children equally. But it was a legacy of war and not of peace, and the cousins fought among themselves until four lay dead, and the sacred Stone Table was stained with Human blood. Then King Birk's second son crowned himself and his cousin-wife King Than and Queen Briar, and moved his seat from Paravel to the Castle Ravenswood in the north, just east of Lantern Waste."

Peter frowned, trying to work out where that would be.

"For a century, the Kings of Narnia ruled from Ravenswood, each worse than the one before, until there came King Drake, the last and worst. His father was of the ancient line, yes, but his mother was a high-ranking Tarkheena of Western Calormen—a Tarkheena, Queen Susan, is a noble lady in the Empire of Calormen, which lies south of Narnia, beyond Archenland and beyond the fierce desert. King Edmund, in your studies, have you learned aught of whom the Calormenes worship?"

Edmund was poking at the fire with a stick, but now he straightened. "The Calormenes do not worship Aslan, but Tash, who has four arms, claws, and the head of a vulture."

"Nearly correct," said Timeseer, "but Beasts have claws and Birds have talons. The Calormenes worship many gods, among them Tash. Drake's mother taught him not to love Aslan, but to serve as she herself did the heathen gods of the south. Thus, when Drake became King, he thought not of Aslan or Aslan's creatures, but mistrusted the Talking Beasts and surrounded himself with Human courtiers—advisors who were deaf, blind, and dumb."

Lucy opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but Susan held a finger to her lips and Timeseer went on.

"Not one had the sight of an Eagle—" (Clearscry adjusted her wings) "the hearing of a Bat, the smell of a Hound—" (Sagepaw sniffed the air ostentatiously) "the constancy of a Badger, the speed of a Leopard—" (Fleetfoot, lying on his back with his paws in the air, could not then have looked less speedy) "the music of a Faun—" (Libruns nodded) "or the wisdom of a Centaur."

Lucy mouthed a silent _oh._

"Aslan gave Narnia to Men as a kingdom, and he gave the Men to Narnia as kings and protectors, but she is a land of Beasts and Birds, Nymphs and Fauns, Dwarfs and Centaurs. It is not for the King to exalt himself over his people." Timeseer looked hard at High King Peter, and the boy looked levelly back, nodding once. The children had already learned to address the Narnians as "Cousins."

"Did King Drake also marry a Tarkheena?" asked Edmund.

"Nay. His marriage was political, and though he kept a dark-eyed dancing girl from Calormen as his mistress, his Queen was a flaxen-haired princess of Archenland. Queen Althea." He was silent a moment. "She was a good woman and a better Queen than some. She loved Aslan and treated his creatures well, though not accustomed to them from childhood, and her husband's excesses grieved her, for he squandered Dwarf-minted gold on the gaudy splendoring of Castle Ravenswood: solid gold dishes for daily meals; a gold and ivory throne with six steps and figures of lions and vultures at each end; a jewel-encrusted shrine to Tash; slaves from Calormen to wait upon him and peacocks, monkeys, and kangaroos for his zoo."

Susan frowned. "Did he have any children?"

"Children, yes—black-haired bastards from his mistress—but no heirs, for Drake did not love his Queen and she remained childless, though she prayed often to Aslan for a son who would restore Narnia.

"'The land hath fallen,' said she, 'the people are oppressed and led astray by a King who knoweth you not. Great Lion, grant me a son and I will teach him to love your truth, your ways, and your creatures. I will teach him to give magnanimously, to love tenderly, to judge wisely, and to fight courageously, that he may restore your peace to Narnia.'

"The Queen was often lonely, for she would not take part in the revels of her husband's court and his love for her was not increased by her failure to give him an heir; but she had a good friend in Lady Celia, who lived with her increasing family not far from Ravenswood. Often the Queen walked among her people, and she was one of those who are close to Aslan. At last, in the tenth year of King Drake's reign, Aslan remembered Queen Althea, and she conceived.

**V.  
Telmar**

Peter had sailed to the Lone Islands and to Terebinthia, had fought Giants in Ettinsmoor, had made a diplomatic visit to Tashbaan, and had flown through the mountains of the Western March—but Telmar was different. He supposed Aslan had made this valley, just as he had made the rest of the world, but Aslan must have used a different palette to paint it. The landscape was mostly dusty tan and faded sage, treebark-brown and pale flax. Even the grass was a tawny green, not the lush verdance of Narnian hills; and dotted with piny scrub.

A town—about a hundred cabins—lay in the center of the valley, with fields of grain to the right and north, and smaller clusters of cabins dotted here and there. Though the mountains ranged around the nearly-circular valley like dark-blue sentinels, the sky felt wider and freer than in forested Narnia. Peter tried to keep his eyes open.

At first the village looked quite near, but they flew on for nearly five miles before they came to it. By the time they slackened their speed and coasted to the ground, the sun was perched atop the highest peak ahead, the point of which curved sideways at an impossible angle. Clearscry settled on Peter's gloved hand, the Winged Horses re-formed their vee with the Wolves between them; then they all stood a moment and looked at the sight ahead.

A crowd had gathered at the edge of town—men with weathered faces, some holding spears, and unsmiling mothers keeping their children close. All eyed the Dragon, the Winged Horses, the great gray Wolves. It was indeed a motley people, some as dark as men from Southern Calormen, some fair as Narnians, some fairer still with hair red as sunset.

"Ho, sir!" called Peter to a young man with sandy brown hair and dark-tanned skin. "Pray send word to thy Chief and King that Peter, High King of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion is come, with Queen Lucy our sister, to see him."

The youth touched his hand to his forehead in salute and hurried away. Peter and Lucy waited, looking about. The crowd numbered about two score, and a not-quite-peaceful wildness hung about them. They wore buckskins and undyed wool, with moccasins for their feet, all beautifully fringed and decorated with silver and blue stones. The little girls had their hair braided with silver wire, leather thongs, and glinting bits of gray-gold stones.

The houses behind the people were built of rough logs and daubed with mud, but most of the dooryards had been swept and tidied, and the chimneys looked homey. To the south a sizeable herd of cattle, a smaller and separate horse herd, and a few sheep grazed on the short, curly grass; to the north, Lucy thought she recognized a wheat field. She was no judge of wheat, and it was too far to see how good the cows were, but there were many of them. Back home in Narnia, what livestock had not been killed by the mobs before the winter had been eaten during the long years of starvation; and though the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve who returned after the winter brought cows and chickens with them, milk was still a rarity in Narnia and most dairy was imported as cheese from Archenland. (Chrysophylax had drunk all the milk from the Cair's cow for a week before coming; after that he had drunk water, eaten bread, and stayed away from meat, but still he steamed like a teakettle.)

At last the young man with the sandy hair returned, bringing two older men. All three saluted, right hands to temples, and the oldest, who had a silver earring in his ear, said, "Belisan, Chief of Telmar, King of the Mountains, Captain of the Telmarines, and Knight of the Exalted Order of the Wild Hawk, invites Peter and Lucy, High King and Queen of Narnia, to join him and his queen at board."

Peter gave a small bow. "Give thy Chief and King our thanks, but we shall not eat until he hath heard our words."

The man with the earring saluted. "Chief Belisan, King of the Mountains, does not do business after the sun touches Cutlass Peak."

Peter gazed steadily at the man. "We of Narnia do not eat when scores are yet to be settled."

The man sketched a third salute. "What scores are you talking about?"

Peter inclined his head. "Tell thy Chief that if he had read our missive, as his reply indicated, he would know that Telmarine hunters have killed two of our people. One of the hunters have we brought to him."

The man raised an eyebrow, saluted once more, and went away. This time he was gone only long enough for Lucy to smile at a little red-haired girl with a solemn face. When he returned, he bowed awkwardly.

"Chief Belisan, King of the Mountains, invites High King Peter and Queen Lucy of Narnia to come speak with him, but asks that they leave their dragon, their horses, and their wolves here."

"By no means," said Peter. "Our friends and companions shall accompany us."

The man looked helplessly at his companions, then set off through the streets, glancing back often at the Dragon, who trotted docilely behind Lucy, the prisoner's lead rope in his mouth. The Winged Horses had to form a double line, for the narrowness of the street, and the Wolves fell behind them. The sandy-haired youth and the other man kept their distance.

**VI.  
England**

One should go down to get into a burrow or a den, but the steps here went up, and then there was a very tall tunnel with rooms off of it. Mr. 'Nuffleroot's tunnels weren't big enough for Mans, but did Mr. Man's tunnels have to be so very tall? Nevertheless, it was warm inside, and soon they came to a room where there were lots of papers with writing on them. Mr. Man cleared some papers off a kind of stool with four legs and a back, and invited him to take a seat. Frank sat down on the rug with Yi and waited.

There was a thing on the wall—round with numbers on it—making noise. It went click, click, click, like a beetle—or maybe it was tick, tick, tick. Maybe it was trying to talk to him. He made click-ticks back at the thing, but it didn't pay any attention.

Mr. Man poured something from a bottle into a mug and handed it to him. There were bubbles on top, and it didn't really smell like ginger. Frank took a sip. It tickled and burned in his mouth and he coughed.

"You all right?" said the Man, pouring himself some "ginger-beer" and sitting down on a stool-with-a-back.

Frank nodded and took another sip. It didn't taste like ginger, either. It tasted like . . . bubbles. He thought he liked it.

"Well, here I am," said the Man, "right in the middle of my Sunday sermon. I think I hear something outside, and there you are, just sitting on the step. Where are your parents, Frank? Do you have a mum and dad?"

He shook his head. He had heard the others talking about this. "No muvver. No father. Muvver good woman. Poor child."

Mr. Man blinked. "How old are you?"

Frank had to set down Yi to hold up two fingers. Then he remembered he had just had a birthday. Mrs. 'Winklewacks said he was three now. He looked at his hands and put up one more finger.

"What happened to your mum and dad?"

Frank had to think about that. He didn't quite know. Mr. 'Nuffleroot was Ruffle'nout's and Tusslebrock's father, and Mrs. 'Nuffleroot was their mother. He had once had a mother. Had he had a father? "Bad woman," he said at last. "Witch. No father, no muvver no more." He drank some more ginger-beer. It sparked in his nose. Mr. Man was looking straight at him, and he looked away.

"Who takes care of you?"

"Mr. 'Nuffleroot. Mrs. 'Nuffleroot. Aunt 'Ears'ry. Mrs. 'Winklewacks. Uncle Pewiwig. Uncle Panfer an' Soot'will went 'way. Bad woman taked them."

"Where did she take them?"

His forehead wrinkled up. "Uncle Pewiwig says her killed them. Mrs. 'Winklewacks says, don't say 'round Fwankie." He peeked up at Mr. Man, who was looking away now. "Where d'you live, Mr. Man?"

"Me? Just across the field in the parsonage."

"What's a pars'nige?"

"It's the house where I live. Where do you live?"

"In th' sett."

"The sett?"

He nodded. "Wif th' Badgers."

Mr. Man sat back. "Badgers, you say?"

He nodded again and held out his mug. "Good Nanimals. C'n I have more?"

The Man poured more ginger-beer in his mug.

"Thankee," he said.

"Where is this sett?" said Mr. Man. "How did you get here?"

He thought about that. How did he get here? He had been with Mrs. 'Winklewacks. She was teaching him how to hold up three fingers. Then they heard the snarling and the barking overhead, and Mrs. 'Winklewacks had looked away. Then he was in the green place, where it was warm and quiet, and Aslan was there, and Aslan licked his face. He had said, don't be afraid, and he would take care of Frank, and— "As'an said him would come wif me. Why tan't I see him?"

"Ass-an?

He looked at Yi's threadbare mane. "Him's big Lion. Him maked everyfing. An' the Nanimals an' the Mans an' the Trees an' the Rivers an' the Badgers an' the Hedge'ogs an' Fwank. Everyfing."

Mr. Man was blinking again, like Soot'will the Owl used to blink in the sun. Slowly, he said, "God made everything, the seen and the unseen, the plants and animals and us and the stars—"

Frank nodded vigorously. "Him maked 'tars, too. 'Tars sing."

"Yes—well—God made everything, and He is always with us, but we can't see Him."

"Why?"

"Well, God is a spirit, and you can't see spirits."

"Tan."

"Pardon?"

"Tan too see 'pirits. Twees have 'pirits. Waters have 'pirits, an tan too see them."

"Most of us can't."

"Why?"

The Man sighed. "Spirits are invisible. God is a spirit. God is invisible."

"Why?"

"God is a Spirit, infinite, eternal, and unchangeable in his being, wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness, and truth."

Frank didn't know what those words meant. He knew that Aslan had made him, that Aslan smelled good and was furry and warm and loved him. "As'an licked me, see?" He pointed to his forehead. "I seed him. An' him's gone. Why?"

Mr. Man put his chin in his hands. "I don't know. I don't know who Ass-an is. I think you said he's a lion who made you. I don't know who you belong to. Why don't you come home and have tea with me and my wife, and then we can work things out. Want to come?"

Frank knew quite well who he belonged to, but tea meant bread and honey. "Yes," he said again, tucking Yi under his arm and standing up.


	3. Third

**AN: I've gotten some comments on the name Chrysophylax. For the record, I stole the name (Greek, lit. "gold-guard") from the inimitable J.R.R. Tolkien, whose dragon Chrysophylax Dives appeared in "Farmer Giles of Ham." Milophylax is my own invention, and means "apple-guard."**

**Second, when Peter was a baby and toddler, he terrified his mum by climbing things, and it was only in Narnia that he developed his deathly fear of heights. The details of the specific incident are another story, which may be found here: ****www. fanfiction. net s/8176095/4/Golden-Age-Tales**

* * *

Extract from the private diary of Cadmian, Scribe to Chief Belisan, King of Telmar:  
_Chief Belisan reached for his silver goblet and took a swig of rum. "But the pompous lubbers aren't declaring war on us."  
__"__No, sir."  
__"__They're coming to visit."  
__"__Aye, sir."  
__"__With a dragon."  
__"__Aye, sir."  
"And that snow-queen?" They'd been over this already.  
__"__Fallen, sir, like your enemies."  
He smiled. "Right then. Take down this answer. 'Belisan, Chief of Telmar, King of the Mountains, Captain of the Telmarines—How many names did that high-falutin' matey string together?"  
__"__Four, sir."  
__"__Calls himself a Knight?"  
__"__Aye, sir. 'Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion.'"  
He scowled. "Well, then. Put me down as 'Knight of the Exalted Order of the Wild Hawk'."  
~_ Recorded by Cadmian in the thirty-fourth year of Chief Belisan

* * *

**VIII.  
Narnia  
The First Year of High King Peter  
**

Now in those days, _said Timeseer,_the creatures of Narnia saw the evil of their Kings, and they murmured against them. The Beasts and Dwarfs saw that Drake thought of them as he thought of his slaves, valuable only for the work they could do or the gold they could produce; and the Nymphs of Wood and Water saw that Drake did not honor them, but soiled the Rivers and cut down the Trees with no thought for the land; and they resented this. Many now repeated what some had whispered in the days of the Terebinthian Revolution, in the time of Drake's father and grandfather, that perhaps Man should not rule Narnia.

"_Mr. Beaver said that Aslan brought King Frank and Queen Helen to Narnia and crowned them in the very beginning," said Lucy._

"Yes," said Timeseer, "but did he say who came with them?"

"A boy and a girl—weren't their names Lord Digory and Lady Polly?"

"And who else?"

She thought for a moment, then laughed. "The Neevil, with its fluffy white hair—"

But Edmund shook his head. "And the witch, Lucy."

"You are right, King Edmund."

Good King Frank was a Son of Adam, and never was Narnia happier than in the idyllic days of Swanwhite the Daughter of Eve, but it was also a Son of Adam who brought the Witch into Narnia. Now, in the days of Drake, few remembered the Witch or believed she still lived. What they said in those days was that it was a Man who killed Queen Swanwhite, it was a Man who killed his brothers and cousins to make himself King, and it was a Man who sat on the gold-and-ivory throne in Ravenswood.

Of all who said such things that summer, over a century ago, when Queen Althea was with child, the Dragon Milophylax, from Knucker's Mere in north-central Narnia, spoke loudest, and many gathered by the sacred Tree of Protection to hear him.

"You are Beasts!" said he. "Or have you forgotten that the same Human who brought Evil into Narnia planted this tree? They say it is for our protection, but is it not here to keep Human kings over us? We have been strictly warned all our lives not to eat its fruit, for there is strong magic in it. Strong magic, I say, to keep the Men strong and the Beasts weak.

"As long as this tree stands, Drake shall be King, shut up in that castle with his southern friends and his rich luxury—the silks you Dryads wove; the gold you Dwarfs hammered; the books _you,_Centaurs, wrote. But do we enjoy the fruits of our labors? Never! We toil and slave, so that those Humans may live their useless lives of luxurious ease. How much longer shall we endure this tyranny?"

Thus did Milophylax stir up the Narnians, the summer Queen Althea was with child. But in her sixth month, Aslan came to the Queen as she rested alone in her chambers, and said to her,

"I have heard your many prayers, my daughter, and my blessing shall be upon your sons from their birth—for you are of Archenland, and in your womb you carry twins. They and their descendants are dear to my heart, and through them shall come the restoration of Narnia, though you yourself shall not see it."

**VII.  
Telmar  
The Thirty-Fourth Year of Chief Belisan  
**

Belisan, Chief of Telmar, King of the Mountains, Captain of the Telmarines, and Knight of the Exalted Order of the Wild Hawk lived in an impressively large log building (was it palace or fort or hall?), built west of town, with plenty of space between it and the other cabins. In this space, the Winged Horses and four of the Wolves waited, with Chrysophylax and the Telmarine hunter. The Dragon coiled his scaly tail around himself and put his head down, steam curling lazily from his nostrils and the rope still firmly in his mouth. Clearscry remained on Peter's wrist and Lucy moved forward to stand at Peter's side, with Loneruff beside Peter and Loneruff's new lieutenant beside Lucy.

So they entered the stronghold. Though there were small windows in the walls, the light came from torches and a fire in the center of the room. There was a bit of chimney in the roof, not enough to let the smoke out, but the ceiling was so high that most of the smoke went up in search of a way out and never found its way back down again.

The walls were covered with animal skins, brightly painted in symbolic and geometric designs, but that was not what captured Lucy's attention. Directly ahead, behind the firepit, sat Chief Belisan himself. His throne was carved from a single massive log, skillfully shaped, with designs burned into the wood and inlaid with silver. Above the throne, a curved knife—a cutlass, she thought, not a Calormene scimitar—hung on the wall, and above that there were the antlers of a great stag.

The man sitting below the cutlass and the staghorn was just as impressive, with long gray hair, tangled beard, and earrings in both ears. He was dressed in silver-beaded white buckskins and crowned with a branched, antler-like silver crown, set with emeralds and the blue stones. At his feet sat a dark, curly-headed boy with quill and vellum.

The older of the two men who had spoken with Peter now saluted Chief Belisan. "The Narnian High King and Queen, sir. Their beasts are outside."

The Chief nodded, and the three escorts retired to the corners of the room. Peter bowed to Belisan, and Belisan lazily saluted him.

"Ahoy, King of Narnia."

"Greetings, Chief of Telmar."

"What business cannot wait until tomorrow?"

Was he merely lazy, or did he not consider them old enough, important enough, to take seriously?

"Telmarines encroach on our soil. They have slain two of our subjects, not even bothering to bury the remains. We come to make clear unto you that if you do not stop these who call themselves your subjects, then our land and yours shall be enemies."

"So you have come to spy out our defenses."

"Give us assurance that these outrages will be stopped. Swear peace with us. Then we shall swear peace with you and trade with you—horses for your cattle, steel for your silver, and silk for your leather."

"Assurance, you say. You captured one of these hunters and brought him with you?"

"Yes, King," growled Loneruff.

He raised his eyebrows. "It talks."

"Peace," Lucy murmured, so low that only Peter and the Wolves heard.

"So, you demand a restitution?" said Belisan. "The hunter will die for the Narnian he killed, and . . ." he looked around the room and settled on the sandy-haired youth, "that young man for the other Narnian. A life for a life. You should have killed the hunter when you caught him, and not come all this way to bother me."

Lucy paled. "No. We would not have you spill innocent blood." Where had these people come from? They were not descended from Frank and Helen, but they were not Calormenes either. Were all Telmarines this cruel, this bloodthirsty?

He chuckled. "Peridan is hardly innocent, pretty girl. His father was loyal to Uvilas—damn him—and I have put up with his sorry skin long enough."

Lucy felt hot all over, but Peter's voice was chill and calm. "Then 'twould hardly be a fair exchange, even if 'twere otherwise acceptable, for Nibbleaf the Rabbit was a beloved subject and friend."

"A rabbit? A _rabbit_?"

"Narnia, in case you hadn't noticed, is a land of Talking Beasts," said Loneruff.

"And, by all accounts, of endless winter and cold blood," said Belisan, "so why you squawk—"

"_No,_" said Lucy again, trying to control her anger. "The White Witch hath been killed, her spell of winter hath broken, and Narnians _no longer take a life for a life._"

"My sister, the Queen, speaketh rightly," said Peter. "Give us thy earnest in silver and in the blue stones your people wear, and give your word, sworn on what you hold sacred, that your hunters will trespass no longer on Narnian soil. Then we and our honor shall be satisfied."

The Chief seemed bored again. "What price do you demand?"

"You offered the lives of two of your subjects," said Clearscry. "What price would you give for that?"

They stood there and negotiated, their conversation punctuated by growls from the Wolves. Peter's arm ached from bearing Clearscry, but her counsel was wise. At last they reached a number which Loneruff accepted on behalf of his pack, and a similar number which Lucy accepted on behalf of Nibbleaf's warren. The amount was brought forth in silver and polished turquoise, solemnly weighed out, and placed in two leather sacks.

"Will you prevent further such depredations of Narnian life?" asked Peter.

Belisan leaned down and his scribe whispered in his ear. Lucy had a sudden, wild thought that he did not know what "depredation" meant.

"The Western March ain't my territory. Do you expect me to patrol all the mountains? You may kill any you catch attacking your people."

Clearscry whispered in Peter's ear. He looked at Lucy, and she nodded. It seemed the best they could do.

"And do you swear not to come against us in war, but to preserve the peace between Telmar and Narnia?"

Belisan sighed. "I, Belisan, Chief of Telmar, King of the Mountains, Captain of the Telmarines, and Knight of the Exalted Order of the Wild Hawk, swear by the gods my people worship, not to break the peace between Telmar and Narnia."

"And we, High King of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, do swear by the Lion Aslan to keep the peace with Telmar and Telmarines unless provoked. With those who attack our people we will do as we see fit."

"And so do I, Lucy, Queen of Narnia, Countess of Glasswater, Keeper of the Stone Table, and Lady of the Vial, swear by the Lion Aslan." She looked at the Wolf. "Loneruff." she hissed.

He grumbled in his throat. "And I, Loneruff, Alpha Wolf of the Western March Wolves, swear by the Great Lion not to harm any Telmarine without provocation. But if my Wolves are harmed, or any other Narnians of the border territories which we protect, I swear by the Great Lion's claws and teeth than I shall not hold back."

Belisan saluted halfheartedly. "Too much business after sundown. You happy now? Your scores are settled?"

"Yea," said Peter.

"You are surely tired from your journey, and my wife is waiting for me with supper. Young Peridan—whom I should not have minded executing—will show you to a cabin. Good night."

The audience was over.

**IX.  
Narnia  
The Eleventh Year of King Drake**

It was a day and a night before the King came to see his heirs, and then he had little to say. "Twins, eh? Seems thou'lt ever be a stubborn Archen wench. Well, well, an heir and withal a spare. Thankee, lass, though wast an uncommon long time about it."

Queen Althea had been reclining on a pile of pillows, but now she pushed herself up and gazed straight at the King. "No wench am I, but your own true wife: an Archen princess by birth, indeed, but a very Narnian Queen this half-score years."

At that, the King scowled his way out of the room, muttering. But, now that he was provided with an heir, he visited infrequently, and Queen Althea was left to raise her sons as she saw fit, for the King considered them too young to be affected by their mother's old-fashioned beliefs.

Queen Althea was a wise woman, and she quietly made use of her freedom. When her sons were a week old, she smuggled them out of the castle to be blessed by a Centaur, one called a seer among Centaurs, as was the custom time out of mind in Archenland and Narnia. Long did the prophet hold each Prince in his arms. Then he spoke.

"Through your elder son, Narnia shall be restored, though he will live in obscurity all his days. And when, in future days, Narnia faceth great sorrow, the children of your younger son will preserve the land from crisis. The breath of Aslan lieth heavy upon these twain."

The Queen thanked him and said, "Narnia sorrows, and the Men fear the Beasts. Noble Centaur, wilt thou teach my sons when they grow older, and wilt assist me in finding noble Animals who will come to Ravenswood, that my sons may grow accustomed to and learn to respect them?"

The prophet bowed gravely to her and gave his word to assist her. Then, wrapping herself and her twin sons again in her cloak, she went swiftly into the night, back to the castle, where the Mannish guards stood their deaf, dumb watch.

With the Centaur's assistance, Queen Althea gathered to herself a small number of Talking Beasts: Sootquill the Owl, Mrs. Twinkletacks the widowed Hedgehog, Clearscry the Eagle, Nightshadow the Panther, and a two-year-old Hound, Quicktrack, who was willing, if necessary, to play dumb. These Narnian Animals did not believe the words of Milophylax the Dragon, but pledged their allegiance to Queen Althea and to the infant Princes, vowing to teach them the proper respect and love for Aslan and His creatures.

For a single year, Queen Althea lived quietly with the court she had formed. Outside Ravenswood, Milophylax stirred up the Narnians against their King and against all Men, and in his gaudy, bloated court the King feasted and drank and grew fatter; but in her apartments the Queen filled her days with her growing sons. She sang old Narnian songs to them; she recited Archen poetry; she taught them the clapping games children had played when she was young; and when Khesa, a young daughter of the King's mistress, asked to join the happy games in the garden, the Queen welcomed her.

Outside, bands of restless Narnians roamed the countryside, stealing whatever caught their eyes, but in the castle garden, protected by thick stone walls and loyal guardians who could see, hear, and smell as well as any attacker; the Princes could play, gurgling, on the grass. And so they grew, happy and healthy and strong. By the time they were ten months old, Glen, determined to explore every inch available, could walk unaided and make his wishes loudly known. Frank was quieter. Though he could take a few steps and ask "Why?" he preferred to play near his mother by the hour as she sewed and talked to him of old Narnia.


	4. Fourth

_And the same John had his raiment of camel's hair, and a leathern girdle about his loins;  
and his meat was locusts and wild honey.  
~ Matthew 3:4_

_"A child can ask questions that a wise man cannot answer."  
~ Anonymous_

* * *

**X.  
England  
The Fifth Year of King Edward VII**

The little boy went with Mr. Man back down the yawning tunnel, out the door and down the steps; then across the field he had seen earlier until they came to another thing that wasn't a burrow or a cave. It stood up tall from the ground, and Frank thought maybe it was a castle. There were more stairs to climb before they could go in, but it was warm inside.

"Susie!" called the Man. "Three for tea tonight."

The Man's mate came out of another room, and the boy looked at her carefully. The bad woman had black hair and red lips. Mrs. Man's hair was dark, but her lips seemed to be the same color as the rest of her skin. Pinkish. He bowed politely to her, and he bowed to the orange Cat that had followed her out of the other room.

"Gweeting, Mrs. Man," said he. "Gweeting, good Tat. What's your name?"

Mrs. Man laughed. "Why don't you call me Aunt Susie," she said. "Most of the children do. The cat hasn't a name. He's only been here a week."

Frank looked at the orange Cat and his stripes. "Stwipetail," he said. "Him's Stwipetail. Gweeting, Stwipetail."

The newly-christened Stripetail rubbed against Frank's leg. The boy placed his hand respectfully on the Cat's head, then knelt and whispered in his ear, "Bwessings on you, good tuzzin."

Stripetail purred.

"You're the first visitor he's taken to," said Mrs. Man—Aunt Susie.

Frank stood up, Yi under his arm, and looked carefully at her again. He decided that her hair was brown, like his.

"Well, teakettle's on," said Aunt Susie, "so come on in and make yourself comfortable."

With Stripetail at his side, he followed the Mans into the other room, where it smelled like tea and honey and warm bread. Mr. Man pulled up a chair, one of those stools-with-a-back, and sat down while Aunt Susie sliced the bread.

"Go ahead and sit down, Frank," she said, but he had already crawled under the red-and-white tablecloth.

Under the table was darker, and the checked cloth hung protectively close. Frank squatted on his haunches and placed Yi in front of him, beside Stripetail, who slid in and sat with his stripy tail curled around his toes. Yi's one eye didn't look straight at Frank, but glanced off to the side as a polite Nanimal's ought to. Looking straight at someone meant you were trying to catch them, like the bad woman was trying to catch Frank. But Aslan's eyes had looked right at Frank, and that had been warm and soft and safe. His forehead wrinkled, and he thought again of the bad woman.

_Skin as pale as Swanwhite in silver days of old  
Heart of frozen winter snow, powdery and cold  
Lips as red as traitor blood, hair like darkest night—  
Deliver us, Great Lion, from her cruel wand's chill bite!  
Trees stand bare and broken, the River's sheathed in ice  
Loyal Beasts and little Frank must hide like little mice._

He said it quietly to Yi and Stripetail, counting the lines on his fingers until there were six . Uncle Soot'will had made it up one night, and insisted on teaching Frank to say it. Aunt 'Ears'ry had laughed screechily and pointed out that he'd used "little" twice in the last line, but Uncle Soot'will hooted at her and asked if she knew how difficult it was to write poetry.

Overhead, Frank could hear Mr. Man saying to his mate, "He's rather an odd boy, I know, insisting he can see the spirits of trees and talking about a Lion who made him."

"Doesn't he have any parents?" said Aunt Susie. Her hair had white in it like Mr. Man's face-fur.

"He said not. Says he's been living in a badger sett."

"A badger sett. With the Borrowers, I daresay?"

"Now, Susie—"

"Now, Colin. You know that just because he followed you home doesn't mean you can keep him. I'm sure he has people somewhere looking for him."

The corner of the tablecloth lifted and Aunt Susie's face peered in. "Want a glass of milk, Frank?"

He nodded, reaching for Yi again.

"Come on out. We don't bite."

Frank thought he would rather drink his milk where he was, but he also thought Mrs. 'Winklewacks would say it was more polite to come out if Aunt Susie wanted him to. He crawled out and squatted with his back against a wall to drink his milk, peeking through the glass at the Mans, who watched him. He looked away. Stripetail wanted some milk, so Frank held it out and let the Cat lap what he wanted, then finished what was left himself.

Something whistled shrilly. Frank jumped and nearly spilt the milk, but Aunt Susie took the teakettle off the stove and the whistle went away. She pulled a third chair up to the table and put a thick book on the seat.

"Will you join us for tea, Frank?" She was smiling at him. He liked sitting where he was very well, but he got up and climbed awfully high onto the chair. Aunt Susie tied a napkin around his neck. Then she sat down next to Mr. Man and both of them folded their hands on the table.

"Fold your hands, dear, and close your eyes," she told him. He folded his hands, and he closed his eyes, but as soon as Mr. Man started talking to someone called "A'mighty Father" he opened his eyes to see who was there. Frank couldn't see anyone else in the room, but Mr. Man talked to A'mighty Father for a long time.

Then they had toast and honey and tea with lots of milk in it. Aunt Susie smiled at him, but she asked him lots more questions about where his parents were and where he lived, and she made him wipe his hands on the napkin, instead of on his buckskin breeches.

**XII.  
Telmar  
The Thirty-Fourth Year of Chief Belisan**

The sandy-haired young man watched as Peter silently untied their prisoner, who jumped away from Chrysophylax the minute he was able, only to have Peter stop him with a hand on the front of his shirt.

"Beware, Boanzir," he said, as he had said to Nothan."This time we release you, for our anger hath been assuaged. But step not foot in Narnia again."

"Or I will hunt you down," growled Loneruff.

"And I will help," hissed Chrysophylax. "Don't kill Narnian Bunnies."

"Aye—aye, sir," stammered Boanzir.

"Beware. And be off."

Peter let go of his shirt and the man ran off into the gathering twilight.

"Well," said Peter, turning to Peridan and Lucy. "Now that all that unpleasantness is settled, did I hear the Chief say something about a cabin?"

Peridan shifted uncertainly, then seemed to make up his mind. "Aye, sir. Right this way."

He led them south of the village to the grasslands where the livestock were pastured. "If your flying horses want to graze, they're welcome here. There is a stream not far from here where they may drink. Will the Wolves need meat?"

"No," said Loneruff. "We ate well this morning of last night's kill, and will not hunt until the morrow. We will stay here and guard the Winged Horses."

One of the Winged Horses pulled up a mouthful of grass. "Chewy, but not bad," he said, and whinnied to the rest.

Peridan looked at the Dragon and swallowed. "What does your dragon eat?"

"Chrysophylax eats bread and milk," said Lucy, patting his scaly shoulder. "What about you, Clearscry?"

The Eagle clicked her beak. "It's too dark to go hunting."

"Right," said Peridan. "This way, then."

Peridan stopped before a cabin that stood slightly apart, on the western side of town. There were wool curtains in the window and smoke curling up from the window. The door opened as they approached.

"Ahoy, Mother," called Peridan to the tiny woman in the doorway. She barely came up to his shoulder, and though Peridan looked barely older than Peter, she was wrinkled like an old woman—from the sun, Lucy thought.

Peter glanced at Lucy, then nodded respectfully to the woman. "Greetings."

Lucy curtsied.

The woman looked from Peridan to the visitors on her doorstep, her glance lingering on the Dragon.

"This is High King Peter of Narnia, Mother," said Peridan, "with his sister Queen Lucy of Narnia. They have flown all day and are weary."

"Oh!" She bobbed a curtsy. "I am—I am Gree. Welcome to Telmar, sir and miss. Come right in and be at home."

Chrysophylax curled up next to the door and put his head under his wing. Clearscry hopped down from Peter's wrist; she preferred to sleep in the open. Lucy and Peter followed Peridan into the cabin.

Inside was warm and cozy, with tallow candles throwing shadows on the walls. A pot of stew was simmering over the fire, three-legged stools waited around a table that jutted out from between the logs of one wall, and the single bedstead was made neatly with a patched quilt. In the corner a ladder led up to a dark hole in the ceiling.

"Our cabin is small, King Peter," said Peridan, after he had whispered something to his mother, "but there is love here and Aslan's protection. Chief Belisan, King of the Mountains, knew of your arrival and yet ordered no place prepared for you. The only empty cabin in town—it is larger, and was better furnished, but it belonged to Uvilas's brother and has been lonely for a score of years."

"We would not turn you out of your own home," said Lucy.

"Queen Lucy," said Gree, "I am told you spoke for my son's life today. Sit."

"Thankee," said Peter, pulling up one of the three-legged stools and folding himself down onto it. "You speak of Aslan. Are you Narnian?"

"My family has lived here for a hundred summers and winters," said Lady Gree. "I do not know from where we came before that, and I do not know who Aslan is, but my father and my grandfather taught me that he will protect us if we call upon him." She stirred the pot of stew.

"Who is Uvilas?" said Lucy, taking a seat. "Chief Belisan mentioned him."

"He was King of the Mountains before Chief Belisan," said Peridan. "When Chief Belisan was a young man, he killed Uvilas and took the Cutlass for himself."

"Hush, dears," said Gree, placing a wooden bowl of stew before each of them and handing them drinking horns of water. "No doubt there is much you do not know about Telmar, and there is much I yearn to hear of Narnia, but now you are weary. Eat—and drink, for you must drink plenty in the mountains—and we shall talk story tomorrow."

**XI.  
Narnia**

It was the last day of the tenth month that the fire-breath of the Dragon brought the bubbling unrest to a rolling boil. "Do you know what else that King keeps in his castle? Beasts! Our cousins! Oh, certainly, they are not like us—they are dumb beasts. Yes, he bought them from Calormen—so he _says_. What's there to say that they weren't once good Narnians like you and like me, Narnian creatures whom by his wizardry he has made speechless and dumb, and whom he now keeps locked in those cruel cages for his visitors' amusement? Imagine a gilded cage, good Nightingale, enclosing you. Imagine being hung in a dark, stuffy castle chamber, far from the air, far from the flowers, far from the sky and the star-song. And you, canny Monkey, think how it would be no longer to climb the trees and swing through the sky, but to spend your days scratching yourself for the amusement of oiled Calormene Humans."

His red eyes roved over the growing crowd. "You there! Loyal Bear! How would you like sitting in a cage, fa from sticky honey and sun-sweet berries?"

The Bear scratched his head, wondering why he would be in a cage, but the rest of the creatures were listening, too, and muttering. At the edge of the crowd, a white-streaked Badger, Snuffleroot by name, cried,

"How do you know about this _zoo_, Dragon? I'm a good Badger, I am, and I know that not all Humans are wicked. What about our Queen?"

Milophylax fixed the Badger with a fiery eye. "What about her? Does anyone ever see her? Well? She's scared of us, just like the King. Why else would she hide in that castle with him? She sits behind her stone walls, filling the ears of her sons with lurid tales of the bloodthirsty beasts outside, does she not? Prove me wrong!

"As for the reliability of my information, there is a clear-headed Beast in Ravenswood whose nose is on straight and who has seen this zoo, these cages, these bars, with his own eyes. Now tell me, who has seen the Panther Nightshadow last? Can any of you tell me where he is? Was he not last seen at the New Year Dance, and did not my trusted follower Darksqueak hear him grumbling against the King?

"Good Narnians, my source in Ravenswood tells me there is a speechless panther chained in Drake's castle."

The crowd growled.

"Cousins, that Human has spies everywhere—even here among us now. That is why I have not told you the name of my informant, lest I risk his neck. Shall we wander away in apathy and wait for Drake's magicians to hunt us down, to drag us off, to magick away our speech and lock us in his infernal zoo, away from our sweet Narnian grass and clear Narnian air, that we may be the laughingstock of all his visiting royalty? Shall we?

"As long as that Tree with the silver apples, the very one under which I have spoken before, as long as it stands, so does Drake. When it falls, so does he. I, for one, shall not wait to be stopped, shall not wait to be put in _my proper place as a dumb beast._"

Yelling, cawing, barking, screeching, the crowd surged northward. The great Oak-God of the West led a forest of Dryads and Hamadryads; Pan himself piped at the head of a band of Fauns and Satyrs; the Dwarfs marched with drums beating and axes crooked over their shoulders; and a great rabble of Narnians of every race and species followed after. Milophylax's words had so permeated Narnia that at least one creature from every flock, gaggle, confusion, pack, murder, skein, den, parliament, pride, and clan was there—even several young, foolish Centaurs and an ugly, lumbering Giant.

They came to the place where the sacred Tree, the Tree of Protection, stood. Egged on by the mob, the Squirrels, the Birds, and the Monkey swarmed over it, stripping off the silver fruits and piling them in shining heaps. The Tree stood mute and unresisting, for she had no Hamadryad to protect her—no spirit but the magic planted within her for the protection of others—and she stood motionless as the hordes crawled over her passing the shining apples from hand to paw to greedily sucking maw, at least one piece for every creature. Then, giddy with rebellion, the Dwarfs rushed at the nine-hundred-year girth of the trunk. Shouting, chanting dirty choruses, yelling with wordless anarchy, every creature who could grip an ax took a turn and those who couldn't darted in and out and pecked and gnawed and shoved. And no one noticed the lone Eagle circling high overhead.

At last the ancient Tree groaned, like a living thing, and everyone scrambled out of the way. The great crown swayed, shorn of her glory; she arced, slowly gathering speed; she crashed with a thunder that made the earth shudder and was heard for three leagues.

Queen Althea heard the distant report as she sat by her window. She, too, shuddered, as an old woman shivers and says, "A bat flies over my grave." Quicktrack the Hound raised his head from his paws and growled faintly; the Queen laid down her knitting and crossed to where her sons lay sleeping in their cradles. She gathered them in her arms and sat a long time by the eastern casement, trembling with some unknown dread, until Clearscry came to tell what had been done.


	5. Fifth

**AN: This one's mostly about Althea. Odd as may be, I'm really admiring this woman I imagined. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

_She left the web, she left the loom.  
She made three paces through the room.  
"The curse is come upon me!" cried  
The Lady of Shalott.  
~ Tennyson _

* * *

**Narnia  
The Eleventh Year of King Drake**

After that, the Queen no longer went out of the castle, for the tide of revolt flooded the country, and those who resisted were drowned. The fall of the Tree was only the beginning. Milophylax flew from one end of Narnia to the other, trailing vultures and wolves and discontented Animals, as well as animals not before seen in the land—foul women with skin like scales, man-wolves, and giants larger and uglier than those of Narnia.

Together they called themselves the Freed Narnians, and they terrorized families of Narnian Humans who had lived in their homes for centuries. What Milophylax wanted, whether shiny heirlooms or family livestock, he took, blasting with fire those who stood in his way. After two weeks, King Drake finally could no longer ignore it, and sent a band of thirteen to kill the Dragon. None returned. But the Dragon stayed away from Ravenswood itself, and so King Drake did not overly concern himself.

It was only due to his Queen's wisdom that Drake's palace still stood, though he did not know it. She, remembering something her mother had once told her, sent a servant to gather what remained of the silver apples the night the Tree was cut down; when she set them in windows on every side of the castle, none who had eaten of the apples that night dared come near. The Narnian Humans saw that Ravenswood stood untouched, and the King's court swelled larger than ever before.

It was a little over a fortnight after that dreadful day that the Centaur who had blessed the Princes received a new message from Aslan especially for the Queen. This is what it said:

_With winter comes the pallid Queen  
And your good grace no more is seen  
For dark and clouded is the sun.  
Then many from this land shall flee  
For Men harassed by Beasts shall be  
As cowards swagger and strong men run.  
But when Adam's flesh and Adam's bone  
Sits at Cair Paravel in throne  
The evil time will be over and done._

Thrice did the Queen read the parchment on which the Centaur wrote the message, first in the ancient Centaur runes and then in looping Human script. Then she laid it down and looked at her young sons where they toddled, shrieking with laughter, after Quicktrack, and in her heart she pondered what course to take.

The next afternoon one of the Queen's maidens came to speak with her. Melina was a young woman with honey-brown hair, the eldest daughter of Althea's good friend Lady Celia, of a family descended from Prince Thomas, the sixth son of King Frank the First.

"Madam," she said, twisting her hands nervously, "Papa and Mama talked low after bed every night this week, and now Papa says we're to leave Narnia. Mama says we're just as Narnian as the Talking Animals, but she's sure she doesn't feel safe around here any longer, what with the Freed Narnians burning down Harthorn and the Weland family just barely getting out. Papa says times change, and maybe 'tis better that Narnia be for the Beasts and Archenland for the Men. Bram—that's my elder brother, Your Majesty—he's always been rather keen to visit Telmar someday, and I reckon we're moving south."

Queen Althea listened. _Many from this land shall flee._"I shall be sorry to lose thee from among my maidens, Melina," said she. "Aslan bless thee and thy family in Archenland and the South. Wouldst kindly ask thy mother to visit me ere ye go?"

**XIV.  
England  
The Fifth Year of King Edward VII**

By the time tea was over, the windows were all dark. Aunt 'Ears'ry and Uncle Pewiwig slept at night, but Frank usually slept all day, like Mrs. 'Winklewacks and the Badgers. Now he felt wide-awake and ready to play. He wanted Aunt 'Ears'ry to come and tell him a story before she went to bed. He wanted to play with Ruffle'nout and Scufflebrock. He wanted gruff old Uncle Pewiwig to take him down in the mines, where they could look for more pretty rocks.

Instead, there was Aunt Susie, who gave him a bath, dressed him in new and itchy clothes, and then wanted him to go to bed. In the middle of the evening! Bed! But it _had_ been almost dawn, almost bedtime, back in the sett, before the wolves came . . . and that was a long time ago.

" 'M not tired," he said, but a great big yawn interrupted him, and Aunt Susie laughed again. He liked her, even if she made him wear itchy clothes and even if she looked at his eyes too much, because she also smiled at him and laughed a lot, like Mrs. 'Winklewacks, and gave him extra honey on his toast. So he followed her into what she called the "guest room"

"You may sleep here," said she, "and you may stay as long as you need."

"Thankee," he said. He could almost hear Mrs. 'Winklewacks and Mrs. 'Nuffleroot in his head, reminding him of his manners.

Stripetail leaped up on the foot of the bed, turned around, and lay down. Frank set Yi next to Stripetail and started to climb up after them, but—

"Aren't you going to say your prayers, Frank?"

He stopped and looked up at her. "Why?"

"Haven't you been taught to say your prayers before bed?"

He thought about that. Sometimes if someone—maybe his Centaur uncle who visited now and then—wanted to ask for something in a special, fancy way, he could say "I pray thee." A prayer was when you asked for something. They called it a prayer if the bad woman and her wolves were chasing you and you called on Aslan for help. He could hear you, even if he was far away, across the sea. Frank had never seen the sea, but he knew Aslan lived over it in his own country, with his father the Emperor-over-the-Sea. But prayer. How could a prayer belong to someone? How could there be _Frank's Prayers_?

He shook his head.

"Well." Aunt Susie's voice wasn't laughing anymore. "Someone's been filling your head with a lot of nonsense. Kneel down by your bed, like so." She knelt, a little stiffly, at the bedside. He mimicked her.

"Close your eyes and fold your hands."

There was that again.

"Then, you say—oh, repeat after me: Now I lay me down to sleep."

"Now I way me down to sweep." He was, even if it was the wrong time of day.

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep."

"I pway the Word my soul to teep." _I ask the Lord_. . . a lord was a Man who lived in a castle. There weren't many lords left in Narnia, because all the Mans had left, but he had heard stories, and Aunt Susie and Mr. Man lived in a castle, so maybe Mr. Man was a lord.

"If I should die before I wake,"

"If I should die before I wate," Would the bad woman and her Wolves come while he was sleeping?

"I pray the Lord my soul to take."

"I pway the Word my soul to tate. Why?" He opened his eyes and looked at Aunt Susie.

"Well—" she said. "You'd have to ask . . . Uncle Colin, about that. Time for bed, dear."

Why? Why did Mans sleep at night and not during the day? Why was Mr. Man—Uncle Colin, was he now?—why was he going to take Frank's soul? "What's a soul, Aunt Thuthie?"

"Your soul is your spirit."

"My 'pirit?" Frank hadn't known he had a spirit.

"Yes. And no, you can't see it."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Hop in bed, now, that's a good boy."

He climbed onto the bed. It would make a lot more sense to sleep under the bed, but there were lots of burrowy bedclothes on the bed, so he and Yi burrowed down among them. Together they thought about Aunt 'Ears'ry and Uncle Pewiwig and—

"Good night, Frank."

—And Mrs. 'Winklewacks and Mr. and Mrs. 'Nuffleroot and Ruffle'nout and Tusslebrock, and Aslan, and that green place, where everything was so quiet and sleepy. . . .

**XV.  
Narnia**

When Melina departed, Queen Althea took her younger son, with Nightshadow the Panther to guard them, and came to the Centaur prophet, leaving her elder son in the care of his guardians. She told the Prophet of Melina's news and begged his counsel. Plainly and earnestly did he speak with her, and when darkness fell and the danger grew greater, he laid his hands on young Prince Glen and blessed him. Then the Queen returned with her son and her guard.

All that night, she kept watch at her eastern window, and at the darkest hour, when the night was chill and silent, Aslan came to her and comforted her. When the clouded sky lightened, she rose, washed herself, and put away her cares to play in the southern garden with the Princes and six-year-old Khesa, their half-sister. Quicktrack the Hound was away, visiting his family, Sootquill and Mrs. Twinketacks were asleep, and Clearscry stood guard, but Nightshadow the Panther played a fine game of Tig with the Humans, stalking and leaping and tickling with his tail until they all were laughing.

The Queen had just caught Prince Glen and was tickling him when a patch of ground by the wall seemed to swell, and then two Talking Moles burst out of the ground, blinking and squinting in the sunshine.

"Greetings, cousins!" called the Queen, setting Prince Glen down and motioning for Clearscry and Nightshadow to remain where they were. "What brings ye to Castle Ravenswood?"

The Moles jumped. "Now look what you've done, Moldywarp!" said the second Mole to the first one. "Beg pardon, beg pardon, ma'am. I shouldn'ta let my brother lead. Ruddy chap can't dig straight." He pushed Moldywarp back down the hole and prepared to follow, but the Queen, her face still flushed from exercise, cried,

"Wait! Please, wait."

He turned back, "Yes, ma'am?"

"Good cousin Mole, I am Queen Althea. Might I know thy name?"

"Oh!" said the Mole, bowing several times. " Grubbledelve, and right sorry for disturbin' Your Majesty. My brother, he don't tell direction so well, but he's a good digger and sometimes I let him go first. Beg pardon for disturbin' you."

"Nay," said the Queen. "Hast disturbed me not. Might I ask whither this tunnel leads?"

Grubbledelve rubbed the dirt off his hands. "Under the wall and away west, it did, but we filled it behind us as we came. You see, ma'am—Your Majesty, that is—begging your pardon, but a lot of Beasts are spouting a lot of poppycock about driving Humans from Narnia and making it a land only of Beasts, but we—my brother and me—we don't hold with that rot (don't believe Aslan would approve, if you take my meaning), and we thought mebbe if we went east we could live in a little peace."

"I fear there is little peace to be found in Narnia, good cousin. Yet it seems you might be loyal to Aslan. Mayhap you are willing to do a deed for me."

He said nothing, and she went on.

"Good Mole, couldst thou and thy brother dig a tunnel from this very spot, under yonder wall, and away to the south and east, and couldst thou dig it large enough for a loyal Hedgehog and for one of my young sons to pass through?"

Grubbledelve blinked once or twice. Then he bowed again, awkwardly. "That we could, ma'am. That we could." He turned to his brother, who had slid back up to listen while they were talking. "This time, I go first, hear?"

Moldywarp mumbled something and shuffled around behind Grubbledelve; then they plunged into the earth and dirt flew out behind them.

Althea watched them for a moment, her face suddenly careworn and sad, but she roused at Khesa's touch on her arm.

"A lady is here to speak with you, madam."


	6. Sixth

___These are the generations. . . .  
~ The Bible_**  
**

* * *

**XIII.  
Telmar**  
**The Thirty-fourth Year of Chief Belisan**

Lady Gree wanted to give her bed to Peter and Lucy, but Peter declined and climbed the ladder to the attic, where Peridan slept. Lucy would have followed him, but Gree insisted and Lucy insisted back and they shared the bed. Next morning they carried water from the well for the lady and ate bowls of buckwheat porridge while she told them about Telmar—the knife they had seen, the Cutlass, was the symbol of the Chief, as were the great antlers. "But the Cutlass more," said the lady. "Many chiefs have been killed with it by those who wanted their power, their cattle, their women." The log structure the chief lived in was called Kahuna Lodge. She did not know whence the Telmarines had come. "We—they—have lived here always, I suppose, but no one knows. Telmarines do not value their past. They do not care who your grandfather was, who your grandmother was. If there is game to eat and beer to drink, and for some if they hold the Cutlass, that is all they care. It is different in Narnia, no?"

"Yes," said Lucy. "In Narnia we tell stories to remind us who we are. But you wish to hear of Narnia?"

Lady Gree took their empty bowls and handed them a loaf of bread. "For your dragon. Now is not the time. Go, and Peridan will show you the livestock and the fields. The Chief may see you again today."

So they went and saw the women milking the cows.

"Remarkable cows," said Peter, and they were really far better than the few scrawny animals Narnia had. A woman with long black hair and a bright red skirt told them how they pastured the cows in the summer and fed them alfalfa hay in the winter. When they had finished, she gave them a bucket of milk for Chrysophylax.

They looked at the horses next, and the contrast was impressive. It was a small herd, and where Narnia had tall, glossy horses, these were small, rough-coated, and stocky. "There's never very far to go," said Peridan, "and ponies aren't much good for hunting in the mountains, but I've heard of some young men stealing better and faster horses from Archenland." Indeed, King Lune had complained to Susan of that very thing.

The Winged Horses said they had passed a fine night, but would not wish to stay more than a week away from Narnian grass. The Wolves and Clearscry had gone hunting again, and Chrysophylax settled down to sun himself in the pasture, promising to stay away from the sheep, which were "too fluffy, anyhow." The sheep were kept mainly for their wool, which was acceptable, but Lucy thought of the fine Felimathian wool and said nothing.

Long-legged jackrabbits bounded past where the grass was tall, and gophers and prairie dogs scurried away into holes in the the ground.

Peter looked at the fields with interest. "This is as good as Archen wheat, as far as I can tell. I haven't seen buckwheat before."

The short plant was alfalfa, Lucy learned. "I think they might have some in Archenland," she said. The cows certainly were thriving on it.

So they passed the morning, and Peridan stopped in at Kahuna Lodge on the way back to his mother's cabin. "The Chief will not see you today," he said when he came back. "Queen Florima has given birth to her fourth son. He sends his apologies, and wishes to speak with you tomorrow."

"I'm glad," said Lucy, taking Peter's arm. "I mean, I know we ought to work out a treaty, but it's rather nice to just wander around today, don't you think?"

"Yes, I think so," said Peridan.

They walked back through town, the men nodding to Peter, the women smiling at Lucy. "They're friendlier when Chrys isn't with us," she whispered to Peter, and he chuckled.

Lady Gree met them at the door and ushered them inside, where the cabin was filled with the savory smell of something roasting over the fire.

"You are speaking with the Chief today?" she asked.

"No, mother," said Peridan.

"Ah!" she said, and her face lit up with a weathered smile. "I have found us a suitable dinner. Let us talk story."

**XIV.**  
**Narnia  
The Eleventh Year of King Drake**

The visitor was Lady Celia, Melina's mother and Althea's dear friend. She was over a decade older than Althea, and had often counselled and comforted her, though there had been little time for meeting and conversation in the last year. They lunched together on wheaten bread from the southern slopes of Archenland with stewed Narnian pumpkin and venison. The conversation was brittlely light, relieved only by the laughter of the Princes, playing with Celia's youngest, a girl two months older than they.

At last, as Althea poured the tea, Celia said, "Madam. What troubles you?"

The Queen's hand shook so that she spilled the tea. "Winter cometh," said she quietly, setting the pot down, "and all Narnia in an uproar." She lowered her voice. "They have cut down the Tree. Naught standeth between Narnia and the Northern Evil." Even she knew little of what that Evil was, but it loomed in the northeast of her mind, darkening like a blizzard cloud. She took a trembling sip of tea. "Ye are . . . wise, to leave. A dark day cometh, with great trials." She paused.

"When yonder princes were born, a Centaur prophet did bless them, with a prophecy that through the elder should come the restoration of this land, when that day hath passed. Yet also did he foretell that I . . . that I shall not live to see it." Another choking swallow of tea, and Celia's hand upon hers. "Three days past, he sent me a second message, given him by Aslan for me and for the land. A 'pallid Queen' cometh with winter, and I 'no more am seen.' Celia. . . ."

The other woman squeezed her hand. "The Northern Evil—?"

"I believe 'tis so. Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve are in great danger, and shall be in greater danger yet. I placed the last apples of protection about Ravenswood, but Aslan alone knoweth how long they shall be preserved when I am—gone, or for what span of time he shall preserve the King and those related to the King."

"Does Aslan in truth—?"

"In truth, he doth preserve those who call upon him, yet thou knowest my lord the King calleth not upon the Great Lion."

Celia nodded, and Althea pressed on.

"I pray thee, Celia, help me."

"How?"

She drew a deep breath. "Take my son Glen with you to Archenland."

Celia sat back suddenly.

"I have sought counsel from the prophet. I have petitioned Aslan the night through. Let not the last true-born son of Narnia's King fall in this overwhelming flood."

"What of your other son?"

"As the prophet telleth me, the heir and Crown Prince may not leave the land until all is lost. Mayhap 'twill all be over quickly, and thy family can return with Prince Glen. Mayhap—I know not all the future holdeth, but I ask thee, take my son with thee and—and love him—love him as thine own."

And when Lady Celia vowed to do so, the two women embraced and kissed and wept long together. Then Lady Celia returned to her home, and when darkness fell, the Queen with many tears and blessings bid farewell to her younger son, entrusting him to Sootquill the Owl, who bore him to the lady. Within three days, the lady and her family, with the Prince, crossed the border from Narnia into Archenland, and no more is known of them to this day.

**XV.**  
**Telmar**

They sat on the three-legged stools, and Gree brought out her "suitable dinner"—an oblong slab of oily, pinkish meat. "This," said she, "is roast beaver tail, nearly as delicious as the tongue of the buffalo."

Lucy shot Peter a look of horror. Beaver? They were going to eat _beaver_? Peter, his face blank, was telling Lady Gree how wonderful it smelled, and Lucy swallowed. She had learned long, long ago the difference between Talking Animals and dumb beasts, between friends and food. There had been a time when she had abstained from meat entirely, before they went hungry their first winter in Narnia, before they consumed the last of what grain sprouted that first spring and survived until harvest. When a friendly Wolf brought a haunch of venison to Paravel, she had taken a long look at it and found her mouth watering.

But she had never eaten beaver.

She took a long look at the beaver tail. Lady Gree had gone to a good deal of trouble to procure this delicacy for her honored guests. Lucy put a determined smile on her face and asked, "How do you prepare it, Lady Gree?"

Peridan carved the—the _meat_—while Lady Gree described how beavers were trapped in the western mountains for their thick, feltable fur. This beaver had been trapped and brought to her by her younger son, Casp. The tail had to be blistered an open flame until the skin came off, and then roasted carefully, and it all was a long (and Lucy thought, smelly) process.

"But this is not talk of Narnia," said the lady at last.

Peter smiled. "No, indeed, and we did promise. But tell us first, you said your family is not Telmarine. Who are you?"

"I am Gree," said the lady, placing food before each of them. "As the Telmarines would say if they remembered their generations, _Gria Arla, Arlia Olvin, Olvinian Glen, Glenian Drake._"

The names rang through the small room, and there was silence for a moment.

"What does that mean?" said Lucy.

"I am Gree, daughter of Arla, Arla daughter of Olvin, Olvin son of Glen, Glen son of Drake."


	7. Seventh

_I have a song to sing-o!  
Sing me your song-o.  
~ Gilbert & Sullivan_

* * *

**XVI.  
Telmar  
The Thirty-Fourth Year of Chief Belisan**

"Drake of Narnia?" said Peter.

"I do not know," said Lady Gree. "I know the tale from my mother as she heard it from her father."

"What tale have you?" said Lucy.

The woman smiled. "_I know a tale. Shall any listen? _That was how my grandfather began his stories. It is the tale of my family."

"We listen," said Lucy. "Tell us your tale."

"A hundred summers and winters ago, Glen son of Drake came over the mountains from Archenland with Lark his bride and Bram her elder brother. Glen was a man of brawn and bravery, Lark a girl of youth and beauty. Her brother Bram was a silent man with thoughts of his own. Together they built this cabin and bought a cow from the Chief, who was then a great-grandfather of Uvilas and called by the same name. Not long after, Lark gave birth to a son, and they named him Olvin, for a great hero in their land."

"Olvin of Archenland," said Peter.

"Do you know the story?" said the lady. "We have forgotten it, and remember only that he was a hero."

"Should say he was. He was an Archenlander. He killed the Giant Pire, who had carried off King Clive's daughter Liln, Princess of Narnia, and won her hand in marriage."

"Ah," said Gree. "Someday you must tell me of it. Have you enough salt?"

"Yes, thank you," said Lucy. "Please go on."

"In those days, Telmar was prosperous, for much snow fell in the winter and watered the land. Glen bred his cow, and she calved, and he began to build a herd. Young Olvin was weaned, and his mother yearned for a second son, as was the custom of her land. Her belly swelled with the ripening wheat, and she reaped a son in the dead of winter, but he did not live through the night.

"Five children did she bear, and only Olvin and his girl-sibling Olive lived more than a day, but the herd of cattle grew, and Glen got good harvest from his fields of wheat and alfalfa. So Lark grew marrow-sick with grief. In her sadness she quarreled with her brother Bram, and he dressed for the mountains, took his bow, and went west to hunt, but he did not return.

"Olvin grew tall and strong like his father, and he preferred to wander in the mountains and seek the legendary buffalo with his bow and quiver than to sit at home and watch the buckwheat grow. His sister Olive glided behind him like a shadow, learning the wood-signs; soon she grew to be a greater tracker than he and nearly as good with a bow. Long they searched for the buffalo, the great beast said to live in the mountains and to be as great as a mountain himself. But at home, Lark their mother, pined, and she chose a wife for Olvin from among the people of Telmar—a slender, fair-haired girl like herself, whose name was Arla.

"Olvin loved the mountains and his bow, and he spent little time in the company of women besides his sister, but he married the girl to please his mother, for his father insisted. Arla bore a son, and Olvin fled again to the mountains with Olive gliding silently behind him. After some months, he returned for a brief time, but soon departed again. Three sons did his wife bear in four years, and perhaps a year in all was he at home.

"Olvin's father, Glen, fed Arla and her and sons out of his own plenty, but whenever Olvin returned to the mountains his father would reproach and his mother would rail. Silently, his sister at his shoulder, he would listen. And then he would take up his bow and go away again. The third time, he did not come back for two summers and winters. His youngest son, born some months after he left, began to walk, and Olvin's wife and parents thought him dead.

"Then at last, when the buckwheat was ripe, Olvin and Olive walked down out of the mountains, carrying packs of dried meat and between them, a horned and shaggy head. They had found the buffalo, in the plains on the far side of the mountain, and they had killed it. 'There are more,' they said. 'Hundreds of buffalo, rolling away like a black cloud on the plains.' But the people of Telmar had no interest in hunting buffalo. 'We have cattle,' they said. 'Why should we climb the mountains to hunt buffalo?'

"Olvin's father Glen took him out in the fields, and showed him the cattle and the wheat. 'I grow old, and all this will soon be yours,' said he. 'You have killed your buffalo. Now let the marrow of your bones be at peace and learn to farm.' So Olvin went with his father, and studied the cattle and the wheat, and when his father died he lived as a farmer. His sons grew. His mother grew old, and cantankerous. And his wife gave birth to a daughter, whom he named Arla after her mother. Often he looked at the horns of the buffalo which hung on his wall, and he sighed for the free life of the mountains, but no more did he go hunting with his sister, and he lived out his days in quietness."

* * *

**XVII.  
England  
The Fifth Year of King Edward VII**

In the parsonage of Little Sunbury that Saturday morning, the vicar's wife went into her guest room and looked at the little boy curled in the covers at the foot of the bed. Colin usually appeared in the spring with lost or wounded baby animals, but this year's assortment of squirrel, raccoon, kittens, and puppies had all grown, recovered, and gone on, either back to the wild or to homes among her husband's parishioners. Recently, they had taken in a half-grown, injured tom cat—Stripetail. As a middle-aged vicar's wife, Susie wasn't fazed by overnight guests or homeless wanderers, but this boy—the three-year-old who named the cat, crawled under the tablecloth, didn't know how to say his prayers, and slept burrowed into the bedclothes—she didn't know quite what to make of him.

"Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?"

A little freckled face poked out of the covers, topped with longish, tangled brown hair. "G'mornin', Aunt Thuthie."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thankee." He crawled out of the tangle of blankets, clutching his frayed stuffed lion, and padded after her into the kitchen, where he happily consumed scrambled eggs and muffins with milk, again sharing the milk with the cat. Unsanitary, probably, but she ignored it and contented herself with periodic questions about the boy's family, home, life—anything she could think of. While she did the washing-up, he told her at length about a lion with some foreign name who had made "ever'fing and Fwank" and who lived across the sea with his father. The lion's father, not the boy's father.

He was obviously an imaginative boy, but she couldn't decide whether he had an entire clan of imaginary playmates or whether the relatives who cared for him had constructed an elaborate game like something out of the Jungle Book. It was his entirely-neglected Christian education—what kind of pagan taught that God was a giant lion?—that disturbed her. She resolved to begin him that afternoon on the most basic catechism, after she cut his hair. There were some serviceable clothes in the poor box (he'd been wearing some kind of outlandish Red Indian skins), but further alterations could wait, and she took him with her to work in the garden while it was still cool.

Telling him to go on and play, she turned to see what was to be done, but he tugged her skirt.

"Aunt Thuthie?"

"Yes?"

"Are yo' twees safe?"

He was entirely in earnest, standing there with his hair in his eyes, dragging his stuffed lion by one paw.

"Certainly," she said. "As long as you don't fall out of one and break your leg."

He nodded seriously, and with a "Thankee," ran off.

She went to work bedding down the garden for the winter and thinking. She and Colin had wanted children of their own for years. Susie's younger brother Bill had four children, now all in their teens. Her school friend Mabel's son was nineteen years old, a quiet, studious young man. The good Lord had not so blessed Colin and Susie, and she had contented herself with mothering kittens, puppies, birds, wandering tradesmen, and parishioners. Except for the parishioners, none stayed for long.

She glanced over at Frank, who was several yards away, holding a whispered conference with a rabbit. His hand was on the animal's head in the same oddly formal gesture he had used with Stripetail—who now was stalking the two of them, his belly low in the grass. The cat came too near; the rabbit sprang away; the boy went after the cat and scolded it sternly.

Susie shook her head and went back to work. This carrot was particularly stubborn and didn't want to leave the ground. Frank certainly belonged to somebody—someone was certainly looking for him—three-year-old boys _certainly _don't appear on church doorsteps without an explanation.

"Good morning!"

Susie looked around. "Oh, good morning, Mrs. Finch. Come right in. Would you like some tea?"

Mrs. Finch, about sixty years of age and Little Sunbury's leading busybody, unlatched the gate and came right in. "Oh, no, I couldn't trouble you. So this is the boy. Vicar called and mentioned you'd picked up a boy you didn't know what to do with and I thought I'd better come and see for myself."

"It's not that we don't know what to do with him, Mrs. Finch, but that we don't know where he belongs."

"I daresay." Mrs. Finch peered at Frank over her spectacles. "Looks healthy enough, though his hair is girlish. What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing's the matter with him, except that his religious education has been neglected and he has quite the imagination."

"Hm! Likely he hasn't been spanked enough. You never know with these foundlings, but the rod certainly will drive the foolishness out of a child."

"It seems quite harmless, really, Mrs. Finch—his imagination, I mean. Do come in and have a spot of tea."

"Don't mind if I do," said the old lady, and they moved toward the house. "I hope, Susan, that you aren't intending to _keep _the child. Orphans are so unreliable, you know. One can never tell what sort of parents they had."

* * *

**XVIII.  
Telmar**

Listening to the story of Peridan's family, Lucy forgot to think about what she was eating, and it gave her a jolt when Gree asked if she wanted more.

"Ye—yes, thank you," said Lucy. "It's lovely. But what happened to Olvin's sister?"

"Oh, she lived with the deer and the elk and the bears more than with people. I believe it was shortly after Arla—the younger Arla—was born that Olive went into the snowy eastern mountains to search for something her Uncle Bram had once told her of, a pure-white stag. She never returned."

Lucy and Peter exchanged a glance.

"That winter, Lark grew sick, and when the snow was deep she died. Glen had loved her fiercely, and by spring he, too, lay still in his bed and his herds and fields were Olvin's to manage."

Lucy made a crooning little sound in her throat.

"They were old, and had lived many winters," said Gree. "Those next years were peaceful ones, and Olvin grew to love his wife Arla as he should. The herds and fields prospered, and all was well. Their sons married girls of their own choosing, and their daughter married a man named Erimon, who had curly black hair, twinkling eyes, and laughter like a spring brook rippling over stones. Soon her belly swelled like ripening wheat, and she reaped a daughter, a tiny little thing, whom she named Gree.

"Sometimes there is peace in Telmar for many summers and winters. Sometimes there is war, and the dry land runs with a cloudburst of blood. There had been peace for several generations, and when I, Gree was nearly fifteen winters old, the war came. Dark men from the south—Calormenes—came bringing gifts, and Chief Uvilas the son of Uvilas welcomed them. But one of his men, Belisan son of Nothor, looked upon the Calormenes with suspicion. Before long, Belisan and Uvilas fought for the Cutlass, and the whole valley was divided with them. Olvin and his sons were on the side of Chief Uvilas, and neighbors whose cows were pastured with Olvin's fought for Belisan. It was a long and bloody struggle, for the Calormenes from the south came to the aid of Chief Uvilas."

"Probably hoped to add Telmar to their Empire," said Peter.

Peridan nodded, and his mother went on.

"At last, Chief Belisan was victorious. He drove the Calormenes back beyond the mountains to the south, and with the edge of the Cutlass he slew Chief Uvilas, King of the Mountains, Captain of the Telmarines and many who had supported him, including Olvin, all Olvin's sons, and Erimon. Arla and Gree he spared, lest his friends call him bloodthirsty, but without their men they could not care for the great herd and the fields, so they sold most of their property and kept only the few cows they could milk themselves.

"Gree wished to marry, but many young men had died in the battles, and the maidens outnumbered the youths. It was ten years before she received an offer of marriage from an old widower named Zardin, and she accepted. Zardin had supported Uvilas, but had been too old and lazy to fight and so had not been killed. Nevertheless, I married him. When I reaped a son I named him Peridan, and when I reaped another I called him Casp."


	8. Eighth

_Speed, bonny boat, like a bird on the wing  
Onward! the sailors cry.  
Carry the lad that's born to be King  
Over the sea to Skye.  
~ Skye Boat Song  
_

* * *

**XIX.  
Narnia  
The Eleventh Year of King Drake  
**

In Narnia, Queen Althea lived as one who knows her days are counted out, one by one, the last grains running through the hourglass. When Frank searched fruitlessly for his brother, she comforted and diverted him, her lips moving in silent prayer to Aslan. Soon Grubbledelve and Moldywarp finished the tunnel, complete with a hidden trap door to conceal it from casual eyes, and set off, with Althea's thanks and blessing, for the east. Althea crafted careful plans and instructed her son's guardians—Sootquill, Twinkletacks, Clearscry, Nightshadow, and Quicktrack—in her commands if she were to suddenly die; she also told her Centaur advisor of her plans and made arrangements with a certain loyal clan of Badgers who lived east of Ravenswood. When all was done, she searched the flat horizon for smoke and played determinedly with her lonely son.

Once, in the days of Swanwhite Father Christmas would stay the entire twelve days of Yule, but those times were long gone, and that year he came and went in the dead of night. For Frank he left a soft yellow lion, made of cloth and stuffed with wool; for Althea, only a message with Sootquill the Owl: _Thy son abideth safe in Archenland, doted upon by Lady Celia and all her family._

When Sootquill repeated the message to the Queen, she covered her face and wept.

Three days after Christmas, Prince Frank celebrated his first birthday—or rather, his father the King threw a great feast to commemorate the first anniversary of the Crown Prince's natal day. The sleepy boy himself made an official appearance in a scarlet velvet doublet. The Queen, desperately wondering if her other son still cried for her and if Lady Celia remembered his birthday, was agonizingly relieved that the King asked only to see his heir and primogeniture.

In Narnia, Christmas lasts for the full twelve days of Yule, and then comes the New Year. King Drake feasted away the days with his swollen court, blind to the state of his country, but Queen Althea and her court stayed away from the revelry. She and Frank strung cranberries and hung star- and flower-shaped biscuits on a small tree in the garden for the wild birds. Then, gathered around the fire, they listened to Mrs. Twinkletacks tell the tale of Narnia's first Christmas, when the young Narnians were frightened by the snow, but King Frank reassured them that it was harmless, and soon Father Christmas came to promise the return of Spring.

"Now a coverlet of snow lies thick and warm over Narnia," said Mrs. Twinkletacks. "Old Father Winter has put all the land to bed and he himself sleeps, wrapped in a white cloak, below the Great Waterfall; but after we have all had our long winter naps, Lady Verna will trip over the hills from the east, wreathed in flowers and the breath of the Lion. From Mount Pire in the southeast and along the river she will wake the land. The Trees will dress themselves, the Waters will skip and laugh, and the Hedgehogs will come out of their burrows. Then Lady Verna will come to Old Father Winter where he sleeps, and she will shake him until he yawns, mumbles into his beard, and wanders away into the North for another summer." Mrs. Twinkletacks yawned herself, covering her mouth delicately with a paw. "My, but I'm sleepy."

The rebellion lulled as many Animals sought their dens and holes and burrows and settled down to their winter's sleep. Dragons do not hibernate, but Milophylax stayed on the warmer southern slopes of Narnia, farther from Ravenswood, and for twelve days there was an almost-peace. Queen Althea wrote a letter to the Centaur Prophet on the ninth day, wishing him and his herd a Happy Christmas. She closed thus:

"My deepest gratitude to thee for thy counsel and friendship when I did most need it. I oft bethink myself of thy words at our last meeting, and I do trust thou wilt remember thy promises to me. I have not seen Aslan since that night, yet constantly do I pray to him; I know he is beside me and I know he will guard my son far better than shall ever be within mine ability to do. May he also be with thee and with all his faithful ones through the winter."

_Timeseer paused in his rendition of the tale, and Lucy thought for a moment she saw a tear in his eye, but already she knew that a Centaur never cries._

Then, the day after the New Year, Clearscry came to the Queen and said, "Madam, a foreign queen hath come to Ravenswood."

"Who is she?" asked Althea.

"Queen of the Lands of the North, she says. She is taller than most Humans, pale and—they say—very beautiful. You know I cannot see as you see."

Something stirred in Althea's memory. That evening, King Drake called for his Queen to join him and their honored guest at dinner, in a celebration of the New Year and new friendships. A great calm descended upon Queen Althea as she dressed herself in her most queenly robes, arrayed her hair, and put on her crown. The Prince was already asleep, for in those days the King dined late, after the Calormene fashion, so the Queen lingered only a moment over her son, kissed him, and left all but Nightshadow to watch him. Then, with the Panther at her side, she walked regally through the halls.

* * *

**XXIII.  
Telmar**

All afternoon, Peter and Lucy told Peridan and Gree tales of Narnia and of Aslan, and there was much laughter in the little cabin, especially once the remains of the roast beaver tail were cleared away. In the evening, Peter began to feel lightheaded and queasy.

"Ah, the marrow of your bones is too thick, King Peter," said Lady Gree. "When the hunters sleep high in the western mountains and drink not enough water, their marrow thickens and they grow ill. Drink more and rest." She made him drink nearly a quart of water and then lie down.

Then sun was still above the mountains and it was too early to go to bed, so Peridan and Lucy walked down to the pasture together. The Wolves were snoozing near the remains of a large deer, and several wild foxes were feasting on the scraps. Clearscry was far away, soaring through the sky and seeing all that passed beneath; the Winged Horses were grazing well aloof of the Telmarine ponies.

"Queen Lucy!" called Chrysophylax. "Queen Lucy, come and see!"

He was curled proudly around a little pile of glittering gray-gold stones, like the ones Lucy had seen the girls wearing in their hair, and Peridan laughed. Lucy remembered Lady Gree's story of Erimon with the laugh like a spring brook, and she thought Peridan must have his grandfather's laugh.

"That's not real, Dragon," said Peridan. "That's mountain gold."

Chrysophylax drew himself up. "Mountain gold? Whatever is that?"

Peridan laughed again. "They're just pretty rocks, of no worth otherwise."

Lucy could tell that the Dragon really was disappointed, but he hid it well with his arch response. "Did I say it was gold? I simply called the Queen to come see the glittery rocks I had gathered."

"They are pretty, Chrys," she said. "Where did you find it?"

"There's piles of it by the stream," he said, mollified. "Want me to show you?"

"I know the place," said Peridan. "We're going that way anyhow."

"Why do you call it mountain gold?" she asked as he led her away from the Dragon.

"I imagine when the Telmarines came here from, well from wherever they came from, they thought it was gold. It looks real enough if you haven't anything to put next to it. They must've tried to trade it and had rather a shock."

She smiled. "I suppose my brother and I shall negotiate a treaty tomorrow with Chief Belisan."

He bent down and picked up something from the stones of the river. "See?" It was one of the sparkling rocks, as large as a hummingbird's egg. "What sort of treaty?"

"Trade and export, likely, now that we have peace. We've few cows in Narnia. Perhaps we shall buy some from you, even trade horses for them and improve your stock."

"Might be good. What else?"

"Well . . . Felimathian wool is the best, but your leather seems very fine, and I should like to have more of those turquoise stones. 'Twould be simply stunning in Susan's hair."

"Queen Susan is your sister?"

"Yes."

"What is she like?"

"Quite beautiful, really, with terribly long black hair and dozens of suitors. King Aran of Terebinthia is courting her presently. What is your brother like?"

He picked up another piece of mountain gold and gave it to her. "Casp? He likes cattle and farming. I'd rather go hunting in the mountains, but I'm the elder, so what's left of the fields and cows is supposed to be mine. But come on, there's a big rock on the other side of the brook where we can watch the sun set. Won't you tell me more about knights?"

The rock was pleasantly warm from the sun, and as they sat on it she told him about how Aslan knighted Peter, and about the jousting. "All the knights carry handkerchiefs or tokens from their ladies when they fight. They believe it aids them to be braver and more courtly and honorable."

"Does anyone carry your handkerchief?"

She laughed. His tanned, freckled face looked oddly familiar, as if she had once known a person very like him. "Usually Peter carries Susan's token and Edmund carries mine, but before the Midsummer joust King Edmund said he would not be fighting, and then Susan gave hers to King Aran of Terebinthia. When I discovered that, I ran to Peter and begged him to take mine. The knight is supposed to ask the lady, but I feared Lord Shar would request mine, and then I should feel as if I had to grant it."

"Lord Shar?"

"He's an Archen lord who thinks me terribly beautiful, and whenever he's in Narnia he tries to speak with me, and says he thinks me fairer than my sister. 'Tis amusing on the whole, yet I do not think I should like to give him my handkerchief."

"Should you allow me to carry your token?" he asked, half-laughing.

"Not unless you were a knight," she replied in the same half-jesting tone.

"I'd like to be a knight," said he, more seriously.

"If you came and trained at Cair Paravel, then perhaps my brother would dub you a knight."

He jumped up and stood before her. "By the gods my people worship, I would like to do that. Would you allow it?"

Just out of reach behind him, a prairie dog popped out of its hole and stood, listening for her answer.

"I see no reason against it. Yet you should ask the blessing of you mother and your chief." She pondered it a moment. "The young men of Telmar yearn for adventure, do they not? Is that why they hunt in the Western March? Perhaps . . . my brother will invite them to Narnia, that they may see more of the world and be trained in knighthood. Think you the plan is good?"

"I do," he said, seating himself once more. "And I shall be the first among them."

* * *

**XXIV.  
Narnia**

The King was dining privately that eve, with only his chief councilor and the two Queens. Althea reached the chamber, was announced, and went in. The foreign queen was the first person she saw—very tall and very pale, her lips very red and her hair very black. The second was the King, already drunk.

"Ah!" he cried as Althea was seated. "My Queen hath deigned to grace us with her face—no longer young, perhaps, but still, as she herself hath told me, a 'very Narnian Queen.' " He laughed. "And our most distinguished guest—Queen Jadis, from the Lands of the North!"

The two Queens nodded stiffly to each other, and smoothly the pale one said, "Your Narnian forefathers were enemies of my land, but 'tis not a day for war. I have come to your fair land with pleasanter aims: that peaceful relations might be established between our countries."

At that moment, (I believe) Queen Althea _knew_, for Nightshadow smelled the sudden fear run over her.

But just then the King noticed the Panther and said, "What, a wild beast here to sup? This may not be. Let the Queen's great kitten be sent away. If she wisheth to while away the hours in taming him, I care not, but let him not join us at table."

So Nightshadow was turned out of the room, and though he tried to listen at the door, the guards forced him away, and he returned to the Queen's apartments, where all was quiet. Sootquill stood guard, Mrs. Twinkletacks sat by Frank's bed, mending a tear in his breeches, Clearscry's head was under her wing, and Quicktrack snoozed by the fire. Nightshadow paced. It was two or three hours before the Queen returned, staggering a little though not drunk on wine. "He sayeth . . . more beautiful than Swanwhite," she said. "Aslan save Narnia." And without even removing her crown, she lay down on her bed and closed her eyes.

It was several minutes before Nightshadow realized he could no longer hear her heartbeat.

He pawed at her arm and licked her face, but she did not move—and "If I die," she had said more than once, "do not pause to grieve me until my son is safe." So Nightshadow woke the others. "Oh my!" said Mrs. Twinkletacks, and began to dress Frank for the snow, hushing him so he would not cry out; Sootquill flew through the window to see how the moonlight lay in the garden; but Quicktrack the Hound sat up on his haunches and slowly licked his nose. "The Queen dead? Then we must get ourselves gone from this place. Two days ago I destroyed the last of the silver apples. Milophylax will soon return to finish off this last Human stronghold, and Narnia will belong wholly to the Beasts, her free and rightful citizens."

And he loped off down the corridors. At last the Panther and the Eagle recovered their wits enough to rush after him. Turning several times, they rounded a corner and stopped, for there he was, detained by the small, determined figure of Khesa, who demanded,

"But where is Queen Althea?"

"I told you, I don't know. Listen, girl, run along to your Calormene bitch. The Animals are kidnapping the prince and I must alert someone."

He pushed past. The little girl watched him for a moment, then ran off the other way. Nightshadow followed her, between the tapestries and the walls. Clearscry kept after Quicktrack, who soon located some guards and barked, "The Queen's beasts are kidnapping the Prince!"

One of the soldiers yawned and said, "Aw, it's just another of those talking critters," but another sat up. "And whose head will roll if the King's heir _is _kidnapped?" So they got up and followed the traitorous Dog.

Meanwhile, though, Khesa had run to her mother. "O-my-mother-and-o-the-delight-of-my-eyes, Quicktrack the Hound hath said unto your daughter that the Queen is away and her courtiers, the Talking Beasts which she keepeth, are stealing Prince Frank in the dead of night. O my mother, may it please you to go and stop them."

"Nay, o my daughter and o the thorn in my side," said her mother. "For am I not also mother to the King's children? and was not my son born first? And if the barbarian prince is stolen by wild beasts, shall not thy father the King make thy brother his heir?"

Thus the King's mistress hurried by another way, and met the guards as they came to the Queen's chambers. "Guards!" she called. " 'Tis a false alarm. Pay no heed to the words of the creature, but begone from these corridors, for our beloved Prince sleeps safe in his bed." And because she was the King's favorite lady, they listened to her.

In this strange way, Aslan watched over the Prince. Mrs. Twinkletacks bundled him safely—if sleepily—out into the garden and down the Mole's tunnel, lowering the cover behind them; then it was under the castle wall and away east and south until they came to the warm, cozy, lamplit sett of the Badgers. All the Badgers were awake (because Badgers, of course, sleep during the day) and they were warmly welcomed. Clearscry the Eagle, Sootquill the Owl, and Nightshadow the Panther arrived not long after, and for two years they stayed with the Prince.


	9. Ninth

**AN: Here's the last chapter, more tweaked than any of the others, but Elinda and Peridan have developed as characters since I first wrote this. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

_Burnt are our homes; exile and death  
Scatter the loyal men.  
Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath  
Charlie will come again._

* * *

**XXII.**  
**Telmar  
The Thirty-Fourth Year of Chief Belisan  
**

The air in the valley of Telmar cooled swiftly once the sun set behind the mountains, and Peridan and Lucy hurried to get back before dark. The next morning, Peter felt a good deal better, and Lady Gree pronounced his marrow properly thinned. After breakfast, a boy arrived from Kahuna Lodge, inviting King Peter and Queen Lucy to come and negotiate a treaty.

They sat on straight-backed chairs at a table pulled up to Chief Belisan's great throne and discussed terms. It took most of the day, but at last they hammered out an agreement in which Narnia got cows and leather, silver and turquoise, while Telmar got horses and silk and steel. Also, Telmarine youths could come to Narnia to be trained as knights, and if they brought a cow and a calf with them, they would be provided with a mount. To seal the bargain, High King Peter of Narnia presented the chief with a Dwarf-wrought sword and a bolt of Dryad silk, and Chief Belisan, King of the Mountains gave Peter, High King of Narnia a hammered leather belt with silver buckle and three cows, two with calves and one that would freshen in the fall. The chief also gave Lucy a necklace wrought of silver and inlaid with turquoise stones.

As for Peridan, (Belisan said) take him and good riddance. (When Lucy told Peter of Peridan's wish to come to Narnia, Peter got that look on his face that meant he had an idea, but he merely said that it was a good plan.) Lady Gree beamed when Peridan asked her blessing and if she wanted to come, too.

"Aye, son. Go to Narnia and learn of this Aslan. I am too old to travel across the mountains and learn new people, but you are no older than was Glen your great-great-grandfather when he came to Telmar." She glanced at Lucy. "Marry a good woman, and bring your children back to visit."

"Aye, mother. I'll do my best."

They rose the next morning before the sun touched the tips of the western mountains and loaded Chrysophylax with the sack of buckwheat, the loaves of bread and the skins of milk Gree had given them.

"Don't forget my mountain gold!" said Chrysophylax, and he wouldn't budge until Lady Gree found a pouch for his glittery stones and Lucy secured them in one of the packs. The Winged Horses pawed the ground, eager to be off, and Loneruff let off a long, joyful howl that woke any remaining sleepers in town. Peter announced that he would do the chivalrous thing—let Lucy ride on Chrys while he walked with the cows and Wolves—and Lucy suppressed a smile.

Lady Gree embraced them all in turn, and Lucy really was sorry to leave, even if Chief Belisan was a rude old man. Lady Gree was tiny, but she was comforting to hug, and Lucy thought she smelled like a mother. "Come back any time," she whispered. "I'll have milk for that dragon of yours, and we'll talk story again."

"I will," Lucy whispered back. And she would, she knew.

The cows with their calves didn't want to move through the mountains at more than glacial speed, but Narnia was calling and Peridan had a sharp stick with which to poke them along. They made reasonable time, and got home on the fifth day. King Aran had gone home, but Susan threw a great feast anyway, and there was storytelling and dancing and singing and laughter late into the night.

Peridan was an instant favorite, dancing with all the ladies of the court, even Mrs. Twinkletacks and Lady Windspring, the Centaur physician. Lucy found him a quick learner at the Narnian circle dances and reels, and in return he taught her a Telmarine jig. One by one, the rest of the revellers realized that Queen Lucy and Peridan of Telmar were face-to-face, jigging as if their lives depended on it, and the great hall fell silent to watch the contest.

On and on they jigged, as the fiddlers scraped and the kithara players plucked madly at their strings, until at last Peridan called to the Queen (loud enough for all to hear, and without missing a step),

"A truce, my lady?"

"Aye!" she returned, grinning and breathless, and they bowed to one another. The weary musicians laid down their instruments and flexed their fingers, the buzz of conversation began again as the crowd drifted to the tables for more wine, and the contestants collapsed into chairs, fanning themselves.

It was then that Maid Elinda of Bearclaw Keep arrived through a side door, breathless and blowsy and trying to slip unobserved into the seat next to Lucy's.

"I heard you were back and came as quick as I could!" she said, squeezing Lucy's arm.

"I missed you!" said Lucy. "Next time, your mother mustn't give birth just when we're leaving, and you shall come with me, and we'll leave poor Peter at home. Is baby Antha well?"

"Shall we go on a quest and be knighted? She is quite well, thank you, and mother sends her greetings."

"We shall! But oh, I've been terribly remiss, and must introduce you to our latest visitor. Elinda, let me present Peridan of Telmar, of the ancient line of Frank before the Winter and come to Narnia for training as a knight. Peridan, this is Maid Elinda of Bearclaw Keep, descended from Charles the fifth son of Frank the First and my dearest friend beside my sister."

Peridan rose to greet Elinda and bowed very low, kissing her hand, though his eyes never left her face. "I am honored to meet you, Maid Elinda," said he, and his voice was low, so low that even Lucy could barely hear.

Elinda flushed and lowered her eyes. "And I you," she replied, her voice equally low. "Perhaps we shall train together when I am at Cair Paravel."

"And when I am a knight"—he'd winked at all the ladies that night but Lucy thought he suddenly seemed shy—"might I someday carry your favor?"

"No knight has yet carried my handkerchief in the jousts," she whispered, looking up at him. "I think . . . when you are a knight, I think I should like it if you did."

Lucy looked away. The dancing had resumed, but it seemed to be winding down, and as the song ended, Peter's chair scraped and he rose.

"Let us have a tale!" he called. "The night is yet young!"

Beside Lucy, Elinda stirred and seemed to notice that her hand was still in Peridan's. She pinked again and quickly withdrew it. Peridan straightened.

"My liege, I know a tale!" he cried. "Shall any listen?"

"What tale have you?" said Peter.

"A tale of adventure and strange lands, a sequel to the tale of King Frank the Lost."

"We listen. Tell us your tale."

"Peter?" Lucy heard Susan whisper.

"Yes?" he whispered back.

"Don't you think he looks rather a lot like—"

"I am Peridan," he said, raising and deepening his voice so it would carry through the Great Hall. "_Peridanian Gree, Gria Arla, Arlia Olvin, Olvinian Glen, Glenian Drake._"

"Shh," whispered Peter. "He's starting. Of course he does."

* * *

**XXIII.**  
**England**  
**The First Year of King George VI**

"And then what happened, Grandma Susie?" cried Lucy.

Grandma Susie handed a now-untangled square of knitting back to Susan. "Well, we asked everyone in town. Each person had his own opinion about what we should do, but even Mrs. Finch didn't know anything about little Frank."

"Did you ask the police?" said Edmund, looking up from the toy soldiers he was commanding.

"Yes, we did, and we placed advertisements in several papers, but they went unanswered."

"So you kept him!" said Lucy, who could listen to Grandma Susie tell stories all day.

"Well, at last we decided that the good Lord had sent him to us. We wanted a son, and Frank wanted a home. I've always wondered what happened to his family. We decided to do the thing properly, and christened him in the church as Frank Colin Pevensie, with my schoolfriend Mabel Ketterly and her husband for his godparents, and he called us Mother and Father."

"What did did Mrs. Finch say?" asked Peter.

"Oh, she said that nothing good would come of it. He certainly was a queer boy, and it took him awhile to stop talking about that lion, but he has grown into a fine young man—generous, courageous, fair, and he's always been gentle with animals. He married a good girl, and they aren't doing too poorly with you young ones. All in all, I don't think I could wish for a finer son than little lost Frank."

* * *

**XXIV.**  
**Narnia**  
**The First Year of High King Peter**

"What happened in those two years?" asked Peter when Timeseer fell silent.

"Many things," said the Centaur, staring into the dying coals of the fire. "Many terrible things. The Northern Queen remained all winter at Ravenswood, and though she went back to the north for the hottest month of summer, she returned when the leaves began to change, bringing with her more of the bird-women and wolf-men, as well as horrible creatures never before seen in Narnia. The Freed Narnians ran wild again that summer. Almost all the remaining Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve left Narnia, some for the Islands, some for Archenland. In the autumn, King Drake married Queen Jadis."

Edmund had been poking the fire again; he looked up sharply and his knuckles turned white on his stick.

"Yes," said Timeseer. "Afterward, he must have realized some inkling of who she was and tried to fight back. Perhaps he contacted the King of Archenland and asked for help, but already his new wife had grasped far too much power. Shortly after the New Year she took him down to the Stone Table and killed him there."

No one said anything.

"That winter was the bitterest ever, and Milophylax the Dragon flew over the mountains to Archenland, where he was killed by the King of Archenland and his knights."

"Was that when the Winter began?" said Susan.

"No. Though late, spring came. By that time and without Milophylax to rouse them, most of the Freed Narnians had decided that Drake was the one against whom they had really been revolting, but now he was dead. They called Jadis a second Swanwhite—Snow-white, some said, and truly, her beauty had not the warmth of the legendary Queen but the chill pallor of snow—and they heralded her rule as the beginning of a new peace.

"But as long as the Prince, now Narnia's true king, was still hidden within her borders, the witch's powers could not take full control. This she soon realized, and systematically hunted down his guardians—those secretly calling him King Frank the Seventh. Nightshadow and Sootquill she captured and killed on the Stone Table, but the boy himself was kept well hidden.

"Then, one terrible day, not long after a joyless Christmas—the first Christmas in Narnian history for which Father Christmas had not come—she and her wolves found them. They tore the entire sett apart, turning whomever she saw to stone. Every tunnel was followed, every corner searched. Clearscry and Mrs. Twinkletacks, who were there that day with our young King—then just three years old—were turned to stone with all the Badgers. Perriwig the Dwarf, who went often from his mine-shafts to the sett, was not there, and for all we know escaped. Young King Frank was never found."

"Where was he?" said Lucy.

"I do not know. Mrs. Twinkletacks tells me she was teaching him to hold up three fingers for his age when she heard the wolves growling and snapping overhead. She looked up, and then a warm breeze blew through the place where they were sitting, though it was winter and underground, and it carried the scent of springtime and sunshine."

"Aslan?" said Lucy.

Timeseer nodded. "She looked to see whence the breeze came, and when she looked back, Frank was gone. Then the witch and her wolves were upon her."

He stopped speaking and gazed again into the coals.

"What happened next, sir?" asked Peter at last.

"The witch, furious, turned a lot of other Narnians to stone, including the Centaur prophet. And so the Long Winter began. That is my tale."

He bowed and drained the last of his wine. The tale had put all into a solemn mood, and though they clapped and thanked him, they sat in silence for a long time.

At last Lucy, her chin in her hand, spoke. "I wonder what happened to King Frank the Lost. I wish he had grown up here and killed the Witch."

"Though we do not know what would have happened if young Frank stayed in Narnia, Aslan always keeps his promises," said Timeseer quietly, "and I believe he kept his word to Queen Althea."

"But how?" This from Susan.

The Centaur smiled a rare smile. "You have filled the four thrones of Cair Paravel, those of Shale and Birk, Wren and Silva; you have brought the death of the witch and the end of the winter; and you have restored Narnia. Where Aslan took the boy-king I do not know, but it was I, the Centaur Prophet, who blessed the twin princes, and it is I who say this:

"You, High King Peter, are as blond as the good Narnian Kings of old. Like King Frank the First, you lead your people in peace and in war, and are generous with all you have. Queen Susan, you are the true successor to Swanwhite—as the witch, with her frozen beauty, never was—for you have the warmth and love that made Swanwhite's reign such a bright time of peace. Already your people love you, and I have seen that you love your family and your people with the gentle tenderness of a mother.

"You, King Edmund—as Clearscry the Eagle remarked on the morning after the Battle of Beruna Ford—you have the walnut-brown hair and freckles of young King Frank; and Aslan has given you the wisdom to give his people fair and impartial justice.

"And last, our golden-haired Queen Lucy. Young though you may be, you are courageous and valiant—and already you look a great deal like your grandmother."

* * *

_**Original prompt we sent you:**_  
_**What I want:**__ I love new places (countries or settlements never mentioned in the books) and lesser-known mythological creatures. It's always fun to see an outsider's view of the Pevensies (or any of the Friends of Narnia, for that matter). In that frame of mind, I also love the slow gathering of clues by the children's parents that leads to the eventual realization that there's more to those kids than meets the eye. I do prefer action to introspection._

_I have a sweet spot for AUs - dark, technologically advanced, gender-swapped, what-ifs... I'd list specific ideas, except I'd probably never stop._

_Other than that, I'll leave this pretty open in terms of characters and time periods and the like. Go crazy - I'll love it. _


End file.
